


Stress Points (fka Hard Delivery)

by Fenix21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate universe-cannon divergence, Angst, Awesome Bobby Singer, Cannon divergent-post season 10, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of miscarriage, Mpreg, Mpreg!Sam, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnant Sex, Schmoop, Sick!Dean, Switching, Temporary Character Death - Winchesters, Top!Sam, Well there's actually sorta kinda turning out to be a plot, approach with caution, lotta angst starting to happen here, male ovulation, mentions of male abortion, mpreg!Dean(?), not for my traditional readership, sick!Sam, smut for smut's sake, tons of belly action, top!dean, unabashed fulfillment of my own kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6316687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNINGS: HEED THE TAGS. I'm not kidding here. I've taken it over the top in nearly every element. However, if you can stomach the kink, there is angst, fluff, feels, and porn in abundance. READER BEWARE.</p><p>Dean is a bearer--able to impregnate a carrier with the eggs he carries.</p><p>Sam is a carrier--able to fertilize and incubate a bearer's egg and then give birth.</p><p>They should have been a match made in Heaven; but life, and Dean, had other plans.</p><p>This is a complicated, whiplash inducing, journey told through the turning points of the boy's lives, highlighting their shared biology and the consequences that came with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this is some serious kink fulfillment on my part, MPREG, egg laying (kind of?), the works, so be warned. 
> 
> A/N While this was initially only intended as a one-shot, it has since developed into something that might loosely resemble an actual story with a plot...if you squint. But the initial warnings still stand, though not applicable in all chapters, so readers please beware if ANY of these elements make you uncomfortable. 
> 
> For a brief explanation of the bizarre biology on which this work is based, please see the endnotes of this chapter.
> 
> Otherwise...enjoy the ride :)

Present Day...(or the very near future)

  


Dean squirmed in his seat, hooked a thumb in the waistband of his jeans and huffed a pained breath.

Sam frowned over at him from behind the wheel. 'Hey, you okay?' he asked.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.' Dean said, but popped the button on his pants and groaned in relief.

'You don't sound fine,' Sam flicked his eyes to the side, spied Dean's scrunched up face and the hand massaging his lower belly. 'Dean, are you cramping?'

Dean sighed heavily, shifted in the seat again, and let his head drop back on the headrest while he rubbed his belly. 'Yeah,' he admitted reluctantly.

'How long?' Sam asked, tone a little accusatory.

'Since Monday night.'

Sam sat up in the seat. 'Jesus, Dean, that was over four days ago! What were you thinking?'

'I was thinking we had a monster to gank!' Dean shot back irritably. He stifled another groan as the Impala hit a bump in the road. 'Besides, I can go up to seven days, and you know it. It's not like we had time to just drop everything for a fuck so that I'd be more comfortable.'

'Dean, it's not about you being comfortable!' Sam snapped. Dean glowered at him and Sam shuffled in his seat, adopting a slightly apologetic face. 'Sorry. Yes, of course it is, but Dean, it's dangerous to go that long. You remember what happened when you were sixteen.'

Dean groaned again, but from the memory this time and not just the cramping in his belly. 'Fuck yes, I don't think I've ever been in so much pain in my life.'

'It was three days before Dad could get you to a doctor to get it out,' Sam reminded him unnecessarily, cringing himself at the memory of Dean's screams of pain from behind the locked bedroom door as the doctor John had dragged out of bed at midnight extracted the egg Dean had carried too long and hatched in his abdominal cavity where, Dean not being a carrier, he had no room for it to grow. The consequences of something like that were often death, and it still made Sam shiver to think how close he'd come to losing his brother that night.

'Thanks for the reminder,' Dean said coldly. 'Just get us back to the motel and I'll take care of it.'

By the time they got back to the room, Dean had his pants completely unzipped and was all but panting with the pain in his belly. Sam hustled around the car to help his brother out of the passenger seat.

'Dean are you sure you counted right? It's not usually this bad.'

Dean shoved Sam's hands away and hefted himself from the seat with a bitten off moan. 'Well, it's been a fucking long time since I waited almost five days, hasn't it?'

He shouldered past Sam and tried to unlock the room door, but had to keep stopping to breathe through the pain and hold his swelling belly.

Sam reached around him. 'Here, let me do it,' he said gently.

Sam got the door unlocked, and Dean all but burst through it, making a beeline for the bathroom, hardly able to even stand up straight he was in so much pain. Sam looked after him, worried. 'Dean, do you—do you need me to help?'

'No.' Dean slammed the door.

Sam brought their gear in from the car, left the weapons for Dean to clean because it always helped calm him down, and fired up his laptop to start logging notes on their latest hunt. He kept glancing between the screen and the bathroom door and his watch.

For the first few minutes, he heard nothing from behind the door, then there were a few stifled moans that developed into pained gasps. After ten minutes of that, Sam heard a series of desperate grunts and then a heavy thud that sounded like Dean hitting the floor.

'Dean?' Sam was on his feet and at the door. 'Dean, let me in. Are you all right?'  He jiggled the handle, to his surprise found it unlocked, and swung into the cramped space. 'Dean?'

Dean was on his knees in the floor, gripping the sink edge to keep himself upright. He was naked and his belly was so swollen he looked like he was almost three or four months pregnant. His dick was curving out from beneath the swell, heavy and hard, twice as thick as Sam had ever seen it before, and weeping thickly onto the tiles between Dean knees.

'Sam, I need—' Dean choked on a groan, doubling over his swollen belly. Sam dropped to his knees, gripping his shoulders to support him. 'Need a little help here, Sam. I can't—I can't get it to come out.'

'Okay. Okay, Dean, let's—let's get you taken care of,' Sam said as calmly as possible. He cupped the swell of Dean's belly in his broad palm. It was bloated and tight and Sam felt himself get hard in his jeans almost immediately. Something inside him clenched fiercely, enough to make him gasp with shock, but he pushed it away and looped an arm around his brother's waist. Slowly, he helped him stand.

'Fuck,' Dean bit out and doubled over, huffing in pain. 'Jesus, Sammy, I must've—I don't know what's going on. It—it's never been this hard before.'

Sam helped him slowly out to the bed and laid him down, then started to strip off his clothes. 'You said yourself you haven't waited this long in years.'

Dean held his belly and huffed, watching Sam get undressed. 'Sam…what're you doin'?

Sam stooped to grab a bottle of lube from his duffle and crawled up on the bed to straddle Dean's hips without even pausing.

'What does it look like I'm doing?' he asked. 'You've been trying a hand job for twenty minutes with no luck, and well, I'm talented, but Dean, I can't even begin to get that in my mouth.' Sam eyed Dean's incredibly engorged shaft with admiration and no little amount of trepidation. 'I'm not sure I can even get it in my ass, no matter how much lube we use.'

'Sam, we are not—' Dean cursed and groaned in pain, and Sam watched worriedly as his belly seemed to swell even more. 'We are _not_ having sex.'

'I don't really see any other options here, Dean,' Sam said, squeezing lube into his palm and working it over Dean's cock. He couldn't even get his fingers closed around the swollen girth of it.

'If we do this,' Dean gasped and huffed. 'If we do this, you know what'll happen, and I can't—I can't let you do that.'

Sam shrugged, a little nervous and uneasy. 'So I get pregnant. There's things we can do.'

'Sammy—'

'Dean, just shut up and fuck me,' Sam said. He settled over Dean's erection, centering himself.

'Sam, no, you—' Dean let out a ferocious groan as Sam sank down on him. 'Sam, stop!'

'No.'

Sam ground his teeth together as he pushed down on Dean's cock, because—fuck! It hurt. He could feel his hole stretching and burning as he forced himself down. Dean was coming inside him, a hot steady gush Sam could feel already filling up his insides. 'Oh, god, Dean...'

Sam had never been fucked before while Dean was ovulating. Dean wouldn't allow it. He had always insisted on taking care of it himself even though it was harder to do and more painful, because he didn't want Sam pregnant. He'd never given any specific reasons for it, though he didn't need to, Sam knew why.  Besides it just being an impossible inconvenience, Dean didn't want children. He didn't believe it was right to bring children into a hunter's world. It was too dark and too dangerous. Too deadly.

So, Sam had never had the opportunity to feel what it was like to bloat and swell out with his brother's cum in preparation to take his egg. He'd always known it would be uncomfortable, but he wasn't prepared for the heady, dizzying wash of pleasure-pain that waved over him as he worked himself down Dean's cock, squeezing involuntarily as he went.

'Dean, I...oh!' Sam gasped and spread a palm over his swelling belly, settled the last inch down on Dean's shaft. His inner muscles contracted hard around Dean's swollen girth.

'That's it!' Dean gasped, grabbing hold of Sam's hips and holding him hard. 'Fuck, that's it, Sam.' He groaned mightily, pushing deeper into Sam's ass. 'It's comin', Sam. It's...comin'...'

'I feel it, Dean,' Sam gasped. And feel it he definitely did. Dean's cock was swelling larger at the base, stretching Sam's hole so much he was almost afraid he'd tear under the strain. 'Dean, it—it hurts.'

'Tell me about it,' Dean huffed, teeth clenched as he curled forward, grunting until he was breathless. 'Jesus, Sammy, it's big. I think—I think I waited too long. I can't push it out.'

'We can do this, Dean. We can,' Sam coaxed, hearing the note of panic in his brother's voice. He spread his thighs wide and settled more heavy on Dean's hips, deliberately rocking his own, squeezing his ass as tight and hard as he could to try and help urge the egg to move through Dean and into him. He cupped his belly with both hands now. It was feeling hard and heavy and too tight, and almost as big as Dean's.

'Push, Dean. Push hard,' Sam urged as he clenched around his brother's cock.

Dean did push, shoulders curling off the mattress, groaning and grunting, belly clenching, fingers hooking into Sam's hips hard enough to leave bruises.

'Oh, fuck! Sam!' Dean yelled out.

Sam stifled a cry as his ass suddenly bulged and stretched with Dean's egg inside him.

'That's it, Dean. That's it. Keep pushing,' Sam instructed through clenched teeth. 'Keep...pushing... Oh, Christ, Dean!' Sam clutched at his belly. It filled both his hands and pulsed visibly. 'Dean, I can't— I can't take anymore. I'm gonna—!'

Sam cried out in agony as Dean's bulging head lodged in his cervix, stretching him open. Dean shouted, punching up with his hips as he bore down hard to deliver his egg into his brother's belly. 

Sam bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming when he felt the last immense stretch as Dean's egg popped into his belly. The shock of it nearly made him nauseous. He didn't have time to give it any thought, though, because the scream of pain he'd managed to bite off moments before escaped him in pleasure when he came so hard and long it shot over Dean's chest and belly, covering him in thick, pearly white, liquid ropes of cum.

'Dean, I-I—' Sam gasped and dropped to his hands and knees, chest heaving. 'Dean—?'

Dean grabbed his shoulders and rolled with him as Sam slid sideways, arms going to wrap around the bulge of his belly. 'Sam? Sam, just breathe. It'll be okay in a minute. Just breathe.'

Sam gulped air, cradling this belly and curling up on his side. 'Dean, I—I don't feel very well. I think—' Sam lurched for the side of the bed, gagging. 

Dean held Sam's head as he vomited in the trashcan so serendipitously placed under the bedside table.

'Oh, God,' Sam heaved a breath and vomited again, clutching the swell of his belly like to protect it from the violence of his being ill.

Dean stroked his hair and back. 'Shh, shh, Sam. You'll be fine. Just breathe easy.'

Sam finally stopped retching and fell back on the pillows, gasping. 'Is that— Is that supposed to happen?'

'Not usually,' Dean said, continuing to stroke him, carefully avoiding the tight swell of his belly. His own was almost gone, pumped empty now that he had delivered his egg. 'I think it hit you so hard because I was so late term.'

'Oh.' Sam closed his eyes and laid back, trying to relax under Dean's hands.

'Don't worry about it, though,' Dean said. 'I know some folks that can help. It'll probably be a little more painful because of its size, but they can still take care of it.'

'Dean.' Sam caught Dean's hand on the downstroke and settled it over his rounded belly. 'What if we don't "take care" of it?'

Dean stared at him. 'Sam, we agreed you'd— You are _not_ having a baby.'

'I'm not?' Sam looked up at him, frowning. 'No, _I'm_ not. _We_ would be having a baby.'

Dean sat up, withdrew his hand. 'No, Sam. No.'

Sam tried to sit up as well, but it made his stomach start to roll again and his belly felt like it would burst if he moved around too much. He caught Dean's wrist instead to hold him on the bed.

'Dean, I _want_ this baby. I want our baby.'

'Hormones, Sam. It's the hormones. Just...go to sleep. You'll feel different in the morning.' 

Dean tried to tug away, but Sam held on.

'What are you so afraid of, Dean?'

Dean sighed and swung his feet to the floor, still held captive by Sam's grip, but turned away from him. 'Sam, you _know_ what.'

'Yeah, I know you don't want to bring a kid into our fucked up lives, but Dean,' Sam tugged at his arm to get him to look around, 'we could—we could retire.' Dean stared, shocked. 'We could actually settle down? Stop hunting? Our lives wouldn't be fucked up then. At least, not as badly.'

Dean looked uncertain, almost angry, and Sam was sure he was going to be rejected out of hand, when Dean did the last thing Sam expected.

He turned back slowly, drawing a knee up on the bed and lifted the hand Sam was holding, turned it gently out of his grip and reached out to cup the curve of Sam's belly. He sat like that, so quiet, for long enough that it made Sam fidget a little, until he finally said, very quietly,

'Every time, Sam. Every time I had to do it alone a-and flush it like it was nothin'—no big deal—I wanted... I wondered what it would be like to give it to you, to make you pregnant and watch you grow and get big. I knew it would make you happy, and I wanted so much to do it, but I was too afraid, Sam. I was too afraid to stop doin' what we do in order to give you that because... I'm not sure who I am, Sam, except this. I don't know how to be anything else. Never thought I would be.' He stroked Sam's belly carefully, knowing it was tight and tender and still sore as hell. 'But I could try— _we_ could try—to be something else.'

For a full minute, Sam was too choked up to speak. He covered Dean's hand and pressed it firmly to his belly where he could feel the egg settling and starting to grow. In just a few days, the hard protective shell would be dissolved by the fluid in Sam's belly and fertilized. An ultrasound in a few weeks would reveal a beautiful, healthy fetus, lively and kicking.

'You don't have to be something else, Dean,' Sam said, smiling. 'Just be you. We'll go slow. Baby steps.' Dean rolled his eyes a little and Sam laughed. 'You can do it, Dean. You can do anything. I've always believe that, and you're going to make a terrific dad. I know it.'

Dean startled at Sam's easy read of his deepest fear in this: not turning out to be an asshole of a dad like John.

'We can do it right this time,' Sam assured him, squeezing his hand. 'And we will.'

'Yeah.' Dean nodded. 'Yeah, we will.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theory behind the biology: 
> 
> It takes a matched pair of a Bearer and a Carrier to produce a child between two males. 
> 
> The Bearer carries the eggs and ovulates every few months much like a female, but the egg has to be implanted in a Carrier or excreted through the penis within a limited amount of time or the Bearer's life may be endangered if the egg ruptures in his abdominal cavity. A Bearer may also 'deliver' the egg into a female, however the vaginal canal is too long for an implantation to take place. 
> 
> Bearers are sterile in the sense that they produce no sperm, and Carriers secrete a sperm rich fluid from the walls of their uterus once an egg is delivered inside them, but do not ejaculate them. Only Neutrals produce and ejaculate sperm necessary to impregnate a female.
> 
> A Carrier becomes pregnant when a Bearer 'delivers' his egg into the Carrier's uterus which is accessed via the rectum (think of it as branching off in a different direction--I'd draw you a diagram, but I can't seem to get the damn pictures to load on here). Once a Carrier is impregnated, his partner will no longer ovulate for the duration of the gestation. The pregnancy is shared between the two, thusly. During delivery the Bearer may even experience low grade labor pains.
> 
> If I missed anything, and I'm sure I did, please just go with me on it? :))


	2. The Beginnings of Biology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _John had been shit at the sex talk._
> 
> _So the first time Dean found himself moaning in the middle of the night with cramps so bad he couldn't even stand to get to the bathroom, because he sure as hell felt like he needed to go his belly was so bloated and full, he had no idea what it was he needed to do to make it stop._
> 
> The story of how Dean came to find out he was a bearer, and what macho stupidity will get you when your little brother knows better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place bout 20 years prior to Chapter One.
> 
> For Lochinvar: Yes, I did it all in one go, and it didn't even require a shower. I know. You hate me. ;)

  


John had been shit at the sex talk.

So the first time Dean found himself moaning in the middle of the night with cramps so bad he couldn't even stand to get to the bathroom, because he sure as hell felt like he needed to go his belly was so bloated and full, he had no idea what it was he needed to do to make it stop.

He was fourteen and it was fortunate as hell that he stumbled on the answer by accident. 

His dick was harder than it had ever been, even when Marky Vaines had given him his first blow job six months back, and no matter how much he stroked it, he couldn't come, not all the way. He just kept dribbling a steady stream, getting the sheets wetter and stickier, until he felt an awful pressure at the base of his dick and it started to swell in his hand, something round and hard forcing its way up the length of it, pushing past his fingers and bulging at his head. He was never so glad that Sammy was safely at Paster Jim's with a bad case of the flu and John was down the street at the local bar drowning himself after their most recent hunt, as he was when his slit started to stretch and open around the slick hardness of whatever was pushing up out of him and he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The thing wouldn't come out readily until Dean pushed and grunted and stroked himself raw for nearly ten minutes, all the while crying at the incredible pain in his belly and the burning as the thing crowned at his slit, until he gave a huge, grunting push and it was finally forced out with a wet pop. Dean threw himself over the side of the bed and retched until he almost passed out. When he could finally breathe again, he rolled back onto the bed and stared in shock at the large marble sized… _thing_ he had pushed out his dick. It was sitting innocently in a huge pool of his own cum, and he reached out to poke at it with a shaky finger. It didn't move or do anything even slightly supernatural in nature, but he grabbed a wad of toilet paper and flushed it anyway as quick as he could and stripped the sheets off the bed and bundled them up tight ant threw them in the corner of the bathroom. He'd take care of it in the morning and hope John was too hungover to notice. 

He examined himself in the harsh light of the bathroom in the mirror, and surprisingly found himself no worse for wear other than his belly was still a little distended, but didn't feel nearly as bad. The cramps were gone, and his dick was only a little red and irritated from all the abuse. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief and went back to bed, glad it was over, and determined never to let anyone know what had happened.

 

The next time it did happen, nearly four weeks later, Sam was there.

'Dean, you okay?' he asked timidly through the bathroom door, because his brother had been in there groaning and huffing, in what sounded like pain to Sam's ears, for nearly an hour.

'Go away, Sam!'

'Dean, if you're sick, I can… I can get you some medicine,' Sam insisted. Dean didn't answer, and Sam pressed his ear to the door, listened as Dean moaned and then stifled what sounded like a cry of agony, and then there was silence.

Ten minutes later, Dean came out of the bathroom, sweaty and pale and looking mutely terrified. Sam got up from where he was sitting on the other side of the hall from the door.

'Dean, you okay?'

'Dammit, Sammy, were you listening at the door?' Dean snapped.

Sam blushed and looked down at his feet. 'Yes. But you sounded…you sounded like you were hurting so bad, Dean. What's wrong? Are you okay now?'

Dean wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve and sighed in frustration. 'I'm fine. Just. Sammy, if you tell anyone about this…'

'I won't tell!' Sam promised immediately.

Dean fisted Sam's hoody and dragged him close, leaning on him just a little. Kid was whipcord thin and small for his age at ten years old, but strong. In more ways than one. 'C'mon, I need to lay down.'

They went into their room on Bobby's second floor and Sam closed the door behind them for privacy. Dean faceplanted on the bed and lay there, just breathing for a minute or two before he turned on his side and patted the mattress for Sam to come sit down. 

'Sammy, I think—I think I'm sick or somethin'.'

'Dean?' Sam's eyes got big and scared. 'Why? What's happening?'

Dean shrugged uneasily. 'I think I must've gotten sick on a hunt with Dad. Last month. 'Cause I…I keep getting these pains, and my belly gets…full, and then I have to…'

'Have to what, Dean?' Sam urged.

Dean closed his eyes, embarrassed that he was confessing this to his kid brother. 'I have to push…something…out of my dick. It's—'

'Hard and round and white? About the size of a large marble?' Sam said, his voice full of relief.

Dean stared at him. 'What the fuck, Sam? You know about this?'

Sam collapsed over Dean, threading his lanky arms tight around his brother's ribs. 'Dean, you're not sick. You're just ovulating.'

'Ova—what now?'

Sam nuzzled under Dean's chin, so glad his brother wasn't victim to some monster illness and just suffering from his own biology. 'You're a bearer, Dean. You make eggs so that carriers can get pregnant.'

'You mean this is…normal?' Dean asked shakily.

'Yeah, Dean. It's perfectly normal.' He lifted his head up, scowling. 'Didn't Dad ever tell you anything about it?'

'N-no.'

'I've never noticed him having to deliver.' Sam shrugged. 'Maybe he's a carrier. Dunno, since it was mom that had us.'

Dean was quiet for a minute. 'Sam, how the hell do _you_ know about this?'

'Books,' Sam piped up like it was natural. 'Bobby's got biology books downstairs. I read 'em.'

Dean just nodded. 'Uh, anything else I should know?'

Sam scowled in thought. 'It happens every four weeks or so. You'll be able to tell because of the cramps and swelling most of the time, though sometimes that doesn't come on right away if you're super stressed out. You have to be careful then, because you can only carry the egg for seven days at the most and that's not considered safe.'

'How come?'

Sam looked up at him, eyes very stern and serious in his young face. 'You _could_ die then. The egg keeps getting bigger inside you until you can't get it out, and then it ruptures, but you're not a carrier, so you don't have room for it. You can die of infections and stuff.' Sam buried his face back against Dean's chest. 'You need a doctor right away if that happens.'

'Okay. I'll keep it in mind,' Dean said, stroking Sam's silky waves. 'And, uh…thanks, kiddo.'

Sam just smiled against Dean's breastbone and burrowed closer.

 

Sam turned out to be right on about the stressed out part delaying Dean's awareness that he was ovulating. 

He and John were on a hunt in northern Montana, tracking a pair of werewolves. They'd left Sam behind in a motel down the mountain. They were working against the clock because the moon cycle was almost over for this month and the pair had already killed nearly a dozen people in the last five days. John was pushing them hard, between that and the bitter cold weather, and the physical exertion of the climb and working their way through dense forest, Dean wasn't paying close enough attention to his body. 

It wasn't until they ganked the pair, burned them, and got back down the mountain two days later that Dean actually felt the onset of his cramps. But by that time, it was too late. 

'Dean, you gotta tell Dad!' Sam almost cried, pounding his fist on the bathroom door. 'You need a doctor!'

'Dammit, Sam! Fuck off and let me get this done!' Dean yelled back, but it was shaky and pain filled and made Sam worry even more.

'Dean, please, if you wait any longer—'

'Shut. The. Fuck. Up. And leave me alone!' Dean shouted.

Sam bit down on his next outburst and went back to the bed to sit and watch the bathroom door, knee bouncing fiercely.

Dean came out over an hour later, looking pale and sick and shaking.

'Dean?' Sam started to stand, but Dean waved him off, making his way to the empty bed a little unsteadily. 'Dean, did you—did you get it to come?'

Dean collapsed on the bed, arm wrapping around his middle, and Sam could see his brother's belly was still swollen and heavy. More than it had ever been, Sam thought, and he cringed at how much pain Dean had to be in, first because the swelling had happened all at once, fast, and second because he still must be having horrible cramps.

'No…I can't,' Dean started, but stopped to breathe through a cramp. 'It won't come out.'

Sam slid off the bed onto his knees beside Dean. 'Then you need a doctor, Dean.'

'No. I can get it. I just need to rest. I'm too fucking tired, Sam.' Dean moaned and turned into the pillows, clutching his belly.

'No. Dean, listen to me. If it ruptures—'

'Sam, go to bed,' Dean said, and it was his big-brother-I'm-the-boss voice that Sam had learned years ago not to disobey. Sam very reluctantly scooted back up on his own bed, but laid awake the rest of the night watching over his older brother.

Dean told John some trumped up story about having the stomach flu, unwilling to admit what was really wrong, because the Winchesters just didn't talk about stuff like that. John grudgingly let them stay another night in the motel, but Dean just kept getting worse. He hid his swollen belly from John as best he could, staying curled under the blankets, biting down on the pillows to keep from crying out with the pain, but the next day he had a fever and the pain had doubled. It felt like something was thrashing around in his belly now instead of just cramping.

Sam stayed by his side, feeding him ice cubes because he couldn't manage to eat or drink anything, and wiping down his sweaty face with a cool, wet cloth. When Dean couldn't control the pain of the cramps or the writhing in his gut anymore and cried out involuntarily, even John started to worry a little. Sam crept a hand under the blankets and felt Dean's swollen middle, felt the sick, rippling movement under his palm, and gasped out loud.

'Dean, it's ruptured! I think it's ruptured. Jesus, Dean, please! We need to get you help,' Sam begged.

'Ruptured?' John asked from across the room. 'What's ruptured? Sam, what the hell's going on?'

Dean gave Sam a pained, pleading look, but Sam couldn't bear the thought of  what would happen to his brother if this continued, and spilled the whole story to their dad.

John had them packed up and in the car in less than twenty minutes, Dean in the backseat crying and thrashing around, Sam squashed into the footwell by his head, trying to help keep him still and calm.

It took John half a dozen phone calls and two days drive to get Dean to a doctor he would trust. Dean was delirious at that point, had a fever of nearly a hundred and four, and was bleeding from his dick, something even Sam hadn't expected and that scared the shit out of him.

The doctor took one look at Dean, called him a dumbass, macho kid, berated John for not just taking him straight to the nearest emergency room, and then called down his wife to prep the guest room for an emergency extraction which he performed in his pajamas because they'd dragged the poor man out of bed at nearly midnight. 

Sam sat on his hands in the hallway outside the door, listening to the doctor give swift orders to his wife acting as impromptu nurse, saying something about no time for the anesthetic to take full affect, that they needed to 'get that _thing_ out of him' right now or he'd die. Sam didn't know until then that he could hold his breath so long, but he did, through the entire procedure, while Dean screamed and screamed over the doctor's calm voice constantly talking him through it. Sam almost threw up twice, imaging what was going on behind that door, listening to his brother crying out for him, begging him to make the pain stop…to save his baby.

That last part was Sam's undoing, and he curled up in a tight ball, knees pulled up under his chin and sobbed silently, shoulders shaking fiercely with his effort to stay silent, because he had no right to be crying as much as Dean was hurting. He stayed like that long after Dean had fallen silent and the doctor came out and put a hand on his shoulder and said very gently,

'It's all right, son. We got it. He'll be all right. He just needs a good solid week in bed, and I've got him on an IV to take care of the infection.'

Sam had barely been able to acknowledge him, only nodded gratefully. 'When can I…?'

'He'll sleep for quiet a while. You should let him. I've got a comfortable couch in the living room, and Heather will get you a blanket and pillow. I want you to get some rest, too, son.'

Sam had thanked Heather kindly for her efforts at making him a bed, but refused to leave his post in the hallway. The doctor came and went a few time in the night, checking on his patient. John was who knew where, and Sam didn't really care. He dozed a little toward morning and woke to the doctor's hand on his head. He looked up, immediately alert. 

'He's asking for you,' he said with a small smile.

Sam scrambled off the floor, ignoring his frozen, cramped muscles, and raced into he room, dropping down on his knees beside the bed. 'Dean?'

Dean was whiter than the sheet he lay on, nearly gray, and his lips were cracked and dry, his eyes still red and puffy from all the screaming and crying the night before, but he broke out a feeble smile for Sam's sake and tried to lift the hand with the IV to get it into his little brother's hair. Sam ducked his head down so Dean could reach and pressed his face into his brother's side.

'God, Dean, I thought I was going to lose you,' he breathed, chest tight with the onset of more sobs, this time of relief. 

'S okay, Sammy. I'm okay,' Dean slurred a little, high on painkillers and a cocktail of other drugs. 'Just. Remind me never to ignore my little bro's orders again…ever.'

Sam huffed out a laugh that turned into a strangled sob and pushed closer into Dean's side. Dean skated his hand over Sam's shoulders and down his back as far as he could reach, squeezed him in a weak hug.

'M good, Sam,' he rasped in way of reassurance.

Sam sniffed and rubbed his tears into the sheet covering Dean's chest. 'You promise?'

Dean nodded, eyes drifting closed again under the influence of the drugs. 'Promise.'

Sam listened to Dean's heart slow under the press of his ear as he went back to sleep, and he very carefully crawled up into the narrow space beside Dean on the tiny bed and pushed up under his arm. Dean automatically reached to draw him closer, and Sam curled up on his chest and cried himself to sleep.


	3. Wouldn't Be A Winchester Without the Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dean was in the kitchen fixing sandwiches for lunch, but the high note of panic in Sam's voice went straight to his hind brain and he was down the hall and in the bathroom, kneeling at Sam's feet within seconds._
> 
> _Sam was on the toilet hyperventilating, fluid still trickling out of him._
> 
>   _'Sammy? Jesus, Sam, what happened? Talk to me. C'mon, little brother,' Dean coaxed, trying to keep his voice calm despite the frisson of fear skittering up and down his spine. 'Sam, breathe. Breathe slow, okay, and just tell me what happened.'_
> 
>   _Sam had his arms wrapped around his belly and was breathing erratically, caught between whines and sobs. 'Oh god, Dean, the baby…I think…' Sam broke off on a sob._
> 
>    
> Dean makes a confession, Sam gets a nasty shock, and the Winchester luck takes hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the hell's going on here, people?! This was supposed to be a one shot! I went from kinky smut to fluffy schmoop. You're inspiring me to greatness. My god, stop! (no don't actually, 'cause I'm lovin' it...thank you!)
> 
> Installment three, back to the present day.

Present Day

  


They stayed in the motel room one more day to let Sam's belly settle so he didn't feel quite so tight and sore before they packed up and headed for home.

'It'll get better,' Dean offered an hour or so into the ride. 'Your body just needs to adjust.'

Sam breathed out slowly as the Impala bumped over a shallow pothole, because he was still damn uncomfortable. 'Yeah, I know.' He cracked an eye and looked over at Dean, lifting one corner of his mouth in a hint of a smile at his brother's concern. 'Thanks.'

'Yup,' Dean said, keeping his eyes on the road.

Sam was quiet for a while and Dean thought he'd gone to sleep until,

'Dean, you seem to know an awful lot about this.'

Dean switched hands on the wheel and shifted his left leg closer to the door, his version of fidgeting while he drove. Sam rolled his head to the side to watch him through drowsy eyes.

'Yeah, well, I studied up.'

'Huh.'

Sam waited.

'Sammy, you gotta know—' Dean blew out a breath. 'I… There were a few times, way back, that I needed. No. That I just didn't want to, you know, do it alone.'

Sam nodded and laid his head back again, closing his eyes. 'I figured.'

'It was before…us,' Dean said.

Sam snorted. 'I don't think there was a "before" with us, Dean.'

Dean shrugged uncomfortably. 'You know what I mean.'

'Yeah, Dean, I know what you mean,' Sam said. 'I just wish you'd been able to come to me. It wasn't like I didn't offer. Lots of times.'

Dean flexed his fingers around the wheel until the plastic creaked. 'I know, Sam. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't put that on you. Dad would have killed the both of us, and I already knew then I never wanted any kid of mine growing up like we did.'

Sam looked over at him, mild hurt still hidden deep in his eyes. 'We could have found a way. I didn't have to get pregnant. There were ways around it.' He unconsciously covered his belly with his palm. 'I'd have rather had to get rid of every one than see you suffer…or give them to someone else.'

'Christ, Sam.' Dean shook his head. He couldn't look at his brother, couldn't take that earnest gaze right now. Because he had popped his eggs into plenty of girls over the years. Didn't make a damn bit of difference with them, they weren't compatible with Bearers the same way a Carrier was. Physically or hormonally. He had to be able to penetrate the cervix to get the egg into the uterus and women were too long. If he was a Neutral like John had been, he'd have live little swimmers to the work with a woman, but Bearers were sterile in that sense. As it was the egg fell short of her womb and just slipped out of her after sex. It wasn't the best option, but it was better than a hand job sometimes. 

There was only once that Dean had done it with another Carrier, while Sam was off at Stanford. He'd still been suffering all the angst of being left behind, feeling inadequate and trodden on, and the guy had been understanding, in a way Sam hadn't been, or didn't seem to be then anyway. Dean had a streak of rebellion in him at the time. John had left him behind because he couldn't get his shit together after Sam left and had nearly gotten them both killed on a job. Dean found the guy in a club and took him home for a one night stand that ended up lasting for a couple of months, thinking that maybe Sam wasn't the only one who could chase the dream and have it, too.

The whole thing had fizzled fast, though, when Dean had delivered his egg, got the guy pregnant, willingly, and then caught him in the bathroom three days later terminating it.

'Hey, Dean, it's okay. Relax, man. It wasn't fertilized yet,' the guy had said, chasing Dean to the door. 'I didn't think you—I only wanted to see what it was like. You weren't really serious on keeping it…were you?'

Dean had grabbed his jacket, shrugged into it, and without turning, said,

'Yeah. Whatever.'

He'd gotten in the car, called John, apologized and assured him he had his head out of his ass now, and where could they meet up. John gave him coordinates and a date and Dean gassed up and left town on the I-54. He very carefully and completely ignored the empty chasm in his chest at the memory of his egg, the shell partially transparent but not fertilized yet, lying in the pile of soaking wet towels in the bathroom.

'Hey, Dean, you okay?'

Dean twitched away from the memory and looked down at Sam's hand on his arm. He followed it up to his brother's concerned face.

'Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—'

'I know you didn't, Sam. It's okay. Just get some rest, huh?'

Sam scowled a little, but it was obvious Dean wasn't going to say anything more, so he just settled back in the seat, keeping a hand on Dean's thigh, and tried to sleep.

 

It was two days later, home at the bunker, when Sam was in the shower, that he felt a sudden gush of fluid from his ass and the steel band tightness in his belly abruptly diminished.

'Oh god…' He slammed the water off and grabbed a towel. 'Oh god, no…Dean!'

Dean was in the kitchen fixing sandwiches for lunch, but the high note of panic in Sam's voice went straight to his hind brain and he was down the hall and in the bathroom, kneeling at Sam's feet within seconds.

Sam was on the toilet hyperventilating, fluid still trickling out of him. 

'Sammy? Jesus, Sam, what happened? Talk to me. C'mon, little brother,' Dean coaxed, trying to keep his voice calm despite the frisson of fear skittering up and down his spine. 'Sam, breathe. Breathe slow, okay, and just tell me what happened.'

Sam had his arms wrapped around his belly and was breathing erratically, caught between whines and sobs. 'Oh god, Dean, the baby…I think…' Sam broke off on a sob.

Dean fought down his own panic and worked one of his hands past Sam's tightly wound arms, feeling for the diminished swell of his belly. Still there, but definitely lessened. 'Sam. Tell me what happened.'

Some innate memory response kicked in at the tone in Dean's voice and Sam spilled out, 'I was—I was in the shower and suddenly there was all this fluid coming out of me, and Dean! The baby. I think—'

'Any pain or pressure?' Dean asked.

Sam took a couple of uneven breaths and tried to think. 'N-no. No.'

Dean cradled Sam's jaw with one hand and rubbed at his belly with the other. 'Then you're okay, Sammy. I promise.'

'B-but—'

'Your body was just getting rid of what it didn't need,' Dean explained. 'What I gave you was just…on loan until your body started producing what the baby needs on it's own. It takes a couple of days for everything to start syncing up and working right. But as long as there's no cramps or pressure or anything, you're okay.' He kissed Sam lightly on the mouth and pressed their foreheads together. 'Okay?'

Sam stuttered out a breath. 'Y-yeah, okay.'

Dean laughed, relieved. 'Jesus, Sammy, considering it was you gave me my first sex-ed talk, I'd think you'd know this stuff.'

Sam dropped his head to Dean's shoulder, feeling dizzy and light headed. 'Yeah, well. Not like I've ever been through it before, and I never exactly had a desire to study up on it.'

'Really?' Dean paused. 'How come?'

Sam shook his head a little, threaded his fingers into Dean's belt loops to ground himself a little more. 'You said never, Dean, and I wasn't letting anyone else get me pregnant. So, I just figured it was something permanently off my plate and never bothered researching it.'

Dean was stunned. 'You never… You mean if we hadn't…then you were never going to have any babies?'

'No.'

Dean wrapped a hand around the back of Sam's neck and threaded his fingers into his still dripping hair, kissing him firmly on the temple. 'Damn, Sam. I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

'Nothing for you to be sorry about,' Sam said. 'It was my choice. It's the way I wanted it. I just couldn't bear the thought of carrying anyone else's baby.'

'But you're gonna be such a great dad, Sam. You're so smart. You've got so much to offer,' Dean said. 'You were just going to let that all go?'

'I had Jess,' Sam conceded quietly. 'We may have considered adoption or something. Who knows. Doesn't matter now. I was never going to let another man get me pregnant and now I don't need to worry about it.' He pulled himself up on Dean's shirtfront, still a little woozy, and tried to smile. 'Got what I was after in the end, didn't I?'

Dean brushed a kiss across Sam's lips, smiling. 'Yeah, yeah, you did. Seems like that's always how things went. Especially when it was me.'

Sam grinned and kissed him back.

 

The trickle of fluid stopped in less than twenty minutes, and Sam's belly still felt full, just not tight and bloated like it had been. He had to admit he was a lot more comfortable, and he tried to let that thought and Dean's reassurances ease his mind, but after two days, even with no other symptoms, Sam couldn't shake his uneasiness. 

'Dean, could we…?' Sam bit his lip and pushed the leather-bound journal he'd been reading away from him across the desk.

'Could we, what?' Dean asked, distracted by his own ancient tome on petrification spells.

Sam leaned back a little in his chair and stroked a hand over his belly and said hesitantly, 'Would it be all right if we…if I went ahead and got checked out?'

Dean did look up then, frowning. 'You okay? You starting to feel crampy or anything?'

'No, I just…' Sam drifted off, looking down at the bump of his belly just barely pushing out into his lap. 

'Sam,' Dean leaned across the desk, reaching for Sam's other hand on the tabletop. 'Are you that worried about it?' Sam nodded, still gnawing on his lower lip. 'Okay. Okay, then. Yeah, we can definitely do it. We'll go into the city tomorrow. Get you all checked out and then you can rest easy, okay?'

Sam nodded again, relief obvious on his features.

'You know, Sam,' Dean said slowly, carefully. 'Even if this…doesn't work out. We can always try again. I mean, I want it to. I really do. But if it didn't…I would be willing to try again. This isn't a one shot.' He squeezed Sam's hand when he saw the tears starting to show in his little brother's eyes. 'I just wanted you to know that.'

'I do,' Sam whispered. 

 

The Winchesters had pretty much always done their own doctoring over the years other than visits to the ER for stuff they didn't have the expertise to handle, so they didn't really have a standing relationship with any medical professionals. Sam spent the rest of the evening researching local OBGYNs and came up with one he liked: one Dr. Marissa Staedler.

'Why her?' Dean asked as they drove toward Kansas City, and Sam perused her profile for the sixth time on his tablet. 

'She has the best credentials, Dean, of everyone in the local area.'

'Huh. Well, in my experience, book learning doesn't always equal know-how and vice versa,' Dean said. 'Present company excepted.'

Sam laughed. 'You'd be living proof of that, that's for sure. But she's sexy, too.' He turned the tablet so Dean could glance at her photo. He whistled, and Sam grinned. 'Thought you might like that.'

'Yeah,' Dean cleared his throat. 'I'd say she looks like she knows her stuff.'

Sam grinned bigger.

Turned out Dr. Marissa Staedler did know her stuff…a little better than Sam cared for.

'Sam,' she said, voice schooled carefully, like Sam himself had done so many times talking to people he was about to tell news they didn't want to hear. 'I want to be very honest with you about this pregnancy.'

Sam's arms automatically tightened around his middle and Dean laid a heavy hand on his knee to steady him. 'It's all right, isn't it? I mean, I haven't had any cramps. There's no blood or anything. No pressure.'

'Yes,' Marissa held up her hands in a calming fashion and leaned forward. 'Yes, everything on the ultrasound looks good right now. Fertilization is one hundred percent successful and her development is coming along just as expected for this stage of the pregnancy—'

'Her?' Dean said.

Marissa colored a little and swore softly. 'Sorry about that. I really need to be more careful. Yes, it's a girl.'

Dean's eyes went a little wide and his jaw loosened up, culminating in a shellshocked effect. Sam squeezed his hand briefly. 'It's all right. We wanted to know, but Doctor, you said you wanted to be honest. About what?'

'Call me Marissa, please. If you decide you want me as your OB, Sam, we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other.' She called up the ultrasound pictures on the screen to the side of her desk. 'Given the information you provided about the inception, and that Dean was so late term, and taking into account both of your ages, we have to consider this an at risk pregnancy.'

Sam flinched. 'Why, is there something wrong with either of us?'

'No, not at all,' Marissa assured them. 'And everything could go exactly as planned, perfect textbook case. I don't want you to worry unnecessarily, but I also want you to be prepared for any eventuality including self-termination. Your age and the fact that the egg was so mature when it implanted are factors working against us. However, you are both in excellent health as far as I can tell, though I'd be interested to know where some of your scars came from, Sam.

'You also said this is your first pregnancy?' Sam nodded. 'First pregnancies often don't take, and when you consider you're over thirty and it's your first, well, you're definitely a step ahead already in that the implantation went without incident.'

'So, what do we do?' Dean asked when it was obvious Sam was having trouble speaking past the tears Dean could see gathering.

'We'll just keep a close eye on Sam and the baby. I'll want to see you for regular checkups, and I'll follow the usual protocol for at risk pregnancies with ultrasound follow ups and if necessary we'll do a CT scan.' Marissa stood and came around the desk to squat down beside Sam and take hold of his hand. 'I'm sorry to have to put any element of worry into this for you. This should be the happiest time of your life, and we'll do everything— _everything_ —we can to make it just that. I promise. Okay?'

Sam nodded again, swallowing around the lump in his throat. 'Thank you.'

They scheduled their next few appointments and Dean pocketed the prescriptions for Sam's vitamins that Marissa wanted him to start taking. On their way home again, he asked,

'You sure you want to stick with her?'

Sam nodded, staring out the passenger window. 'Yeah. Not like anyone else will tell us anything different. She was honest from the get go. No surprises. At least that way, we know she'll be looking for anything to go wrong.'

'Yeah, I suppose so.'

They drove in silence for a while, but when Dean got outside the city and onto the open highway, he reached across the seat, fisted the shoulder of Sam's shirt and tugged hard, forcing him to slide across the seat and tip sideways. Sam huffed out a long held breath and turned his face gratefully into Dean's strong, muscled thigh. Dean could feel Sam's hot puffs of breath and the warm damp of his tears through his jeans as he cried quietly. He sifted his fingers into Sam's hair slowly, stroking down the side of his neck and tracing the curve of his ear, reaching back to rub between his shoulder blades.

'It's going to be okay, Sam,' he said quietly, voice with a hint of that iron Sam recognized when Dean made a decision to see something through and come hell or high water—literally—nothing was going to stop him. 'You said I could do anything, that you believed that, always had.'

'Yes,' Sam murmured. 

'Then believe that I will make damn sure our baby is born, happy and healthy,' Dean promised.

Sam's fingers tightened on Dean's thigh and he pressed his face closer into the strong, battle hardened muscle, muscle that had been built and trained—like the man it served—through trial and fire and come out stronger on the other side. Dean didn't fail. Dean didn't give up. And where Sam was concerned, there was nothing that would stand in Dean's path to seeing him safe and protected and happy. Dean had adopted that job years ago, and stood by it as the core of his existence. His promise now stoked the hope deep in Sam's belly, knowing that same unflagging loyalty and love carried over to their baby. Their daughter.

Sam smiled, a little watery, and whispered, 'Hey Dean, we're having a baby girl.'

Dean chuckled and fisted Sam's hair briefly, gently. 'Yeah, we sure are, Sammy. Gonna have a set of dimples on her just like her daddy, I'll bet.'

'Yup, and your freckles, too.'

'Yeah. Yeah, I bet she will at that.'

  


	4. Misled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sam clutched the slip of paper in his clammy fist. His hands were shaking. He snorted softly at the irony in that. He could hold a gun loaded with silver on a werewolf, shoot it at point blank range in the heart without so much as a skip in his heart rate; yet the words on this piece of paper made him sweat._
> 
>  
> 
> Sam finds out he's a Carrier, but things do not go as planned with Dean. AKA the real reason Sam left for Stanford.

May 2001

  


Sam clutched the slip of paper in his clammy fist. His hands were shaking. He snorted softly at the irony in that. He could hold a gun loaded with silver on a werewolf, shoot it at point blank range in the heart without so much as a skip in his heart rate; yet the words on this piece of paper made him sweat. He pulled in a deep breath and tried to let it out slowly, but it skittered to a halting gasp when he heard his brother's tread on the stairs.

Dean swung through the door without even a knock, but that was usual for them. Privacy was a rare thing in their lives, and they didn't need it anyway. Sam twitched his eyes up in time to see Dean strip out of his sweaty t-shirt and throw it in the corner. He'd been outside in the yard most of the day working on Bobby's list of broken down clunkers. His arms were covered in grease up past his elbows, and he smelled vaguely of motor oil and gasoline.

He stretched his arms over his head and pushed his shoulders back until the bones popped and he let out a groan of relief.

'Jesus, Sammy, it's fuckin' hot,' he grumbled, dropping onto the bed beside Sam to bend over and unlace his boots. 'I need a long, cold shower.'

Sam nodded, but said nothing, only pulled his fisted hands and the slip of paper closer into himself. His stomach was doing flips, and he didn't trust his voice. 

'You, got home pretty late from school today,' Dean continued. 'You studying at the library, or doing some chick under the bleachers?'

When the crude tease didn't elicit the requisite groan of mortification from his little brother, Dean turned to look at him and then frowned at his pallor.

'Hey, kid, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.' Dean paused, laughed briefly. 'Well, except that you're not holding a saw-off full of salt rounds.'

'Dean, I—' Sam swallowed and tried again. 'I had an appointment. At Doc Barnes.'

Dean scowled and sat up, reaching for Sam's forehead. 'You feelin' okay, kiddo? Why didn't you say somethin' if you were sick?'

'I'm not sick, Dean.' Sam pushed his brother's hands away. 'I'm just— I'm just—' Sam stuttered, halted, blew out a frustrated breath and thrust the piece of paper at Dean.

Dean took it, skimmed it, and Sam knew the second his eyes landed on _that_ word. His speeding gaze stopped, jerked, and whipped back to the beginning to read through again, mouthing the words to himself.

'They say if you haven't o-ovulated by the time you're sixteen, to get checked out,' Sam said in a rush as Dean's gaze swung through the words a third time. 'And since we were here at Bobby's and had the time and—' Sam forced himself to stop babbling and smiled tentatively. 'Dean, this is good. This is a good thing.'

Dean's gaze snapped up. 'Good? _What_ about this is _good_?'

Sam sucked in a shocked breath, unconsciously leaning away from his brother's unexpected anger. 

'I can help you now,' he said timidly. 'You don't have to do it alone. I can take your eggs—'

'What? So you can get pregnant?' Dean nearly shouted, and Sam was very, very glad Bobby had left to go join John two days ago the way Dean's voice was carrying.

'Y—yes,' Sam said, stunned and confused at his brother's outrage. 'It's not like we don't already do everything except that, and I know you don't... I remember that night, heard what you said.' His voice fell to a whisper, 'Save my baby, Sam—'

Dean dropped back a step, gone pale with the shock of Sam's words. He looked from the piece of paper to Sam and back again and again, finally choked out,

'No. No, Sam. Never. Not with you. I never want that with you.'

Sam's heart seized painfully at the vehement rebuff, so that he could do nothing more than sit and shake his head, jaw hanging slightly loose.

Dean threw the paper down and backed up another step, like to escape, nearly tripping on his own feet in his rush. Sam lurched off the bed, reaching, but snagged on empty air as Dean recovered and jerked out of his grip.

'Don't touch me!' he snapped, staring at Sam like he'd never seen him before. 'Don't. You. Touch. Me.'

Sam stumbled backward, dropping to the bed, limp, like he'd been flung there by his brother's brute strength, and not just the force of his stinging words. 

Dean whirled away, escaped into the hall and stomped down the stairs, slammed through the front door and ran until Sam could no longer make out the crunch of his boots on gravel.

Sam curled in on himself, jammed a fist in his mouth, bit down so hard on his knuckles that he drew blood, because he was afraid otherwise he might scream from the writhing agony inside him.

He'd been so sure. He'd thought what they had was more than...but no. Dean didn't want that. Had _never_ wanted that. Didn't want Sam. Not that way. Didn't want his babies.

Sam tipped over on the bed, pulled his knees up and tucked into himself, sobbing so hard the frame shook, until he was exhausted into sleep.

 

'Sam?' Dean stepped cautiously into the den where Sam sat at Bobby's desk engrossed in whatever was on his laptop screen. 'Sam, you want some supper?'

Dean waited a minute but Sam didn't respond. He risked a step closer, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. 'Sam, look, about this afternoon, man... You just. You just shocked me is all, and I'm—'

'Forget it, Dean,' Sam said, without looking up. 'It's fine. I get it. I understand.'

Dean looked up, surprised.'You do?' Sam twitched off a nod. 'I mean, you understand what I meant, right? That I don't want—'

'Yeah,' Sam cut him off, a little sharp. 'Dean, just. Drop it.'

'Okay.' Dean shifted, a little uneasy, rolling his shoulders under the weight of the dead, bland tone in Sam's voice. 'Okay,' he said softly. 'Yeah, okay. I'll go. I'll go get us some grub ready, huh?'

Dean didn't wait for the response that didn't come. He turned back into the kitchen and started looking through the cabinets.

Sam just continued to scroll through the search results on his computer screen until his eyes lit on _University of Stanford. California. One of the top seven rated law programs in the country_.

His eyes flicked over the top of the screen to Dean, standing at the stove in the kitchen, already whistling Metallica to himself over a soup pot like nothing had happened.

Sam looked back at the screen, blamed its brightness in the fading light for the sting in his eyes. He clicked on the link.

California. Yeah. California ought to be far enough away.


	5. The Cost of a Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts having cramps, like he might be starting another cycle, but that's not possible while Sam's pregnant, unless...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People, I was a VERY bad, horrible girl today and wrote the majority of this at work. At my desk. Where I am supposed to be doing this other thing called my JOB. Oh well. The Muse calls, and I shall answer.
> 
> BAD ME! I forgot to give a nod to my lady [Linden](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Linden) and her beautiful work [Ghost in the Garden](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3665577/chapters/8101716) because I totally had it on my mind when Marissa finds the wound in Sam's back from Jake all those years ago.

Present Day

  


‘C’mon, Dean!’ Sam smacked the flat of his hand against the bathroom door. ‘You promised me French toast before we hit the flea market. I’m starving!’

They’d come to the city primarily for Sam’s bi-weekly exam but secondarily to shop for ‘supplies’ because Dean could not bring himself to call it ‘baby stuff’ just yet, and he had sworn that nothing even closely related to a pastel color was going to enter the bunker. So, Sam had suggested the flea markets and antique malls for furniture and other baby trappings from before a time when powder blue, mint green, and puffball pink became the staples of infantdom.

Where there was nothing but silence from the bathroom for another five minutes, Sam frowned and went back to the door, knocking more gently.

‘Dean, you all right?’ There was still no answer, but Sam could hear water run in the sink and a distinctly muffled groan. ‘Dean?’

The door opened and Dean leaned into the frame, face sweaty and pale, one hand splayed against his belly. 

‘Dean, you look like hell. What’s wrong?’ Sam cupped his brother’s elbow and led him to sit down on the king size bed. ‘I told you those ghost pepper nachos were a bad idea last night.’

Dean tried to crack a smile, but it was pained. ‘Yeah, well…’

Sam’s face turned serious. ‘Is that what did it? Did they make you sick? Forget the French toast, man. I’ll get you some ginger ale at the vending machine—.’

‘Sam, I’m not sick,’ Dean cut in, catching hold of Sam’s hand to get his attention. ‘I thought I was, last night, but…’

‘But?’ Sam waited.

Dean met Sam’s eyes reluctantly, and the bottom of Sam’s stomach dropped out. He was suddenly very glad he had not eaten anything yet this morning or it may have come back up at that look in Dean’s eyes.

‘It’s cramps, Sammy. I’m crampin’. Bad.’

Sam gave a little jerky shake of his head, jaw snapping tight in denial. ‘But you…you can’t while I’m…’

Dean didn’t need to finish the thought, couldn’t bring himself to even think it in his own head. Sam was starting to shake, and even though Dean’s belly felt like he had an angry, inept team of knife jugglers practicing inside him, he reached out and grabbed Sam’s wrist, rubbing firmly against the soft, thin skin over his pulse point. 

‘Sam, don’t…panic, okay? Call Marissa. Your appointment was at two, right?’ Sam nodded sharply, still mostly frozen in shock. ‘We’ll get it moved up. Get you checked out.’

Sam just sat and stared for a minute until Dean tapped his wrist to get him moving. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, thumbed the screen to life and tried to dial, but his hands were shaking too badly by then. 

‘Here.’ Dean took the phone gently. ‘Let me do it.’

Dean pressed the speed dial for Marissa’s clinic and stood, biting back against a moan and turning away from Sam to keep him from seeing just how much pain he was in. The receptionist answered after two rings.

‘Stanton and Staedler Clinic, how may I help you?’

‘I need to speak to Dr. Staedler,’ Dean said, trying to keep his tone even and mild. Behind him, Sam made a little choked sound in the back of his throat, and Dean turned to see him fold around himself and tilt over onto the bed. He immediately went to Sam’s side, dropped onto the mattress and laid a hand against the swell of Sam’s belly. Sam wound his arms tighter around himself and turned his face into the blanket. ‘Tell her it’s an emergency.’

The receptionist was gone for a slow count of thirty, but it was thirty seconds too long for Dean as he watched his brother slow collapse on himself in despair. He chewed his bottom lip waiting for the line to pick up again. It wasn’t fair, dammit! Sam had only just recently begun to relax enough to start to enjoy this pregnancy, to start to hope for the best instead of expecting the worst at every one of his visits. He was past the halfway point, and Marissa had been very positive at all of their recent visits, giving them no cause to think their baby wouldn’t be happy and healthy and born right on time. This was the first trip of several Dean had planned to make to outfit their little girl’s nursery, and now the whole thing was falling apart like a sandcastle left too long to dry in the sun. 

‘Dean?’

‘Marissa?’ Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. ‘Marissa, I need to bring Sam in right way.’

‘Of course. Dean, what’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘I think…’ He steeled himself and closed his eyes against the broken look on his brother’s face that exactly mirrored the feeling in his heart. ‘I think we’re losing the baby.’

 

The twenty minute drive to the clinic was probably the most harrowing of Dean’s life right up to and including the time Sam had nearly been gutted by a Nachri with six inch claws when he was fifteen and they were sixty miles from nowhere and John had called in a dozen favors across three states in the middle of the night a week before Christmas to get his youngest son airlifted to the nearest trauma center before he bled to death.

Marissa was waiting for them when they arrived, Dean leading Sam by the elbow while trying to stay standing up straight through his own pain that seemed to be getting worse and worse by the minute. Sam was completely shut down now. His face was a blank mask, his eyes flat and listless. He let Dean steer him wherever he needed to go without protest.

Marissa directed them into an exam room.

‘Sam, I need you to get undressed,’ she said, starting to pull equipment up close to the exam table. Sam didn’t seem inclined to respond, so Dean shrugged out of his jacket and started disrobing Sam, quick and efficient like he had once done when Sam was only a toddler.

‘Okay guys, talk to me,’ she said. ‘Sam, are you in any pain?’

Sam said nothing but managed a minimal shake of his head.

‘Any bleeding or sudden loss of fluids?’

Sam shook his head again, and his eyes darted to Dean.

‘I started cramping last night,’ Dean said.

Marissa paused in her typing of notes but didn’t look up. ‘Okay. Sam? I want you to lay back and relax. I’m going to see if we can hear the baby’s heartbeat and take a look and see how she’s doing.’ She rolled over on her stool and pulled the ultrasound machine closer, then looked up, catching Sam’s eye and waiting patiently until he was really looking back at her and not staring into the empty space between them. ‘Sam, I don’t want you to assume the worst.’ He gave a quick automatic shake of his head. She smiled indulgently. ‘You can’t fool me. I know that’s what you’re doing. Now, just because Dean’s having cramps doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with your baby. It’s an indicator, but it could be a wrong indicator. Okay?’

Sam shook his head again and closed his eyes and laid his head back, letting Dean thread their fingers together on the other side of the table. Marissa glanced at Dean. ‘How’s the pain, Dean? Do you need something for it?’

‘I’ve had worse,’ he said, and that at least elicited a sardonic snicker from Sam who knew just exactly how true that statement was. Marissa raised a brief eyebrow. ‘I’ll be fine. Let’s just focus on Sam.’

She nodded and pushed Sam’s shirt up and squeezed out a dollop of cold gel on his taut skin, then methodically spread it with the ultrasound wand. After a minute or two of looking at the staticky black and white of the image on her screen that Dean had never yet been able to visualize into a tiny human form, she frowned a little and pulled the wand away, wiping Sam dry.

‘Sam, I’d like to do an internal ultrasound, okay?’

‘W-why?’ Sam asked, eyes wide and a little wet. Dean leaned closer and squeezed his hand a little tighter. 

‘I can’t find her heartbeat, Sam,’ Marissa said calmly. ‘It may just be the position she’s in right now, but I can’t confirm it visually or auditorially, so I’d like to try an internal exam.’

‘Will it hurt her?’

‘No! No, not at all,’ Marissa assured, patting Sam’s free hand. ‘It’ll let me check to be sure that the placenta and amniotic sack are also intact and healthy.’

Sam glanced at Dean who nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘Good. Dean, can you help him roll onto his side? There are extra pillows in that cabinet to your left to help make him more comfortable.’

Dean tugged Sam over gently, tucking two pillows under the swell of his belly and resting his hand there once he was situated. Sam slipped his own up to cover it.

‘Dean?’

‘It’s gonna be okay, Sam,’ Dean said. He pulled up a chair and sat down, eye level with his brother. ‘You remember what I said. I meant it.’

Sam nodded, thinking back to the promise Dean had made those few months ago on their way back from Marissa’s office the first time. _Believe that I will make damn sure our baby is born, happy and healthy_ , Dean had said. Sam believed it. He had always believed in Dean, and it was the only thing holding him together now as Marissa carefully inserted a thin, cold instrument into his rectum and moved it very slowly toward his uterus, trying to find signs of life in their baby.

‘Sam, have you noticed any movement over the last day or so?’ Marissa asked, voice very even and calm. Too calm. Sam had experience with that tone. He’d used it before. So had Dean. It was the tone they used when they really already knew the answer to their own questions, they were just following through on formality.

He thought for a moment and then his stomach dropped for the second time that morning. He clutched at Dean’s hand. ‘N-no. No. I… She’s usually so rowdy at night, but last night she was quiet, and I didn’t think. I didn’t think anything about it, and—.’

‘Sam, relax,’ Marissa said, a note of warning in her voice. She stilled in her probing, laid a hand flat in the small of Sam’s back and rubbed in small circles, because Sam’s words were coming out in a rush and he was starting to hyperventilate. ‘Sam, breathe.’

Dean hunched down, getting right in Sam’s face and squeezed his hand untill the knuckles turned white. ‘Sammy, breathe. Take it easy. Just breathe, little brother. Please.’ Dean spread his fingers against Sam’s belly. ‘She needs you right now, Sammy, to be calm. Let the doc work, okay?’

That seemed to get Sam’s attention enough that he could manage a few shallow breaths and get his heart rate back under control. Marissa went back to work, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut against the discomfort and her silence, and clung to Dean’s hand. 

‘Doc?’ Dean finally asked, unable to keep silent at the furrowed look on her face.

Marissa didn’t answer right away. She carefully withdrew the wand, sterilized it, and turned off the machine. She stood and stripped off her gloves and came around the table. But Dean didn’t need her to say anything. He’d read all he needed to know in her face. She reached out and covered their linked hands. 

‘Sam, I’m sorry. I can’t find a heartbeat. The amniotic sack is intact, for now, but I’m afraid without a heartbeat… There’s no evidence that your baby is still alive. I’m so sorry.’

Sam did nothing more than turn his face into the pillow and wind his fingers so much tighter with Dean’s that the joints cracked. Dean didn’t protest, just stared at Marissa for a long minute, face unreadable.

‘The next step in the process—’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Dean cut her off. 

‘Dean, in a few days—’

‘Thank you.’ Dean turned away from her.

Marissa scowled but turned for the door. She stopped with her hand on knob. ‘What are you going to do?’

Dean didn’t look back at her. ‘What do you mean?’

She was silent for a second, trying to choose her words. ‘I know what you are.’

Dean turned very slowly, eyes dangerous and bright. Marissa stumbled a little in finding her voice again, but she managed to control its shaking when she said,

‘The scar on Sam’s back.’ Dean flinched just a little, felt Sam tense under his hands. ‘No one survives a wound like that. My grandfather was in the war. He saw men cut down like puppets with their strings cut by knife wounds like that one.’

‘Don’t believe in miracles, huh, Doc?’ Dean asked, his voice the low growl of a cornered predator.

‘Yes, I do, in fact. But they come with a price.’

Dean’s eyes narrowed at her. ‘And what would you know about that?’

Marissa swallowed and lifted her chin a fraction to meet Dean’s hard glare. ‘Someone paid it for me.’ 

Uncertainty rippled across Dean’s face for just a fraction of a second before he shut it down, and Marissa pushed forward. 

‘The details of it don’t matter. The point is, I know. I know what’s out there.’

‘Lady, you haven’t got a clue,’ Dean said caustically. Sam twitched at Dean's hand, trying to bring his brother’s tempter under control before it got away from him. Dean didn’t deal well with amateurs who thought they knew things. 

Marissa wasn’t fazed. ‘Maybe not all of it. Maybe not even most of it. But I know what can be asked for, and how much it costs, and I…I just don’t want you to make any rash decisions.’ She focused her gaze on Sam now, eyes turning soft, finally letting the sympathetic tears show. ‘There will be other babies, Sam. There will be. Please don’t… Just don’t.’

Sam said nothing but pulled Dean’s hand closer in to his chest, his eyes going up to his brother’s face, fearful, like he knew exactly what she was getting at, how close to the truth she really was, and how far Dean would go.  

‘We’ll keep it in mind, Doc,’ Dean said, but the hard edge was gone from his voice. Marissa gave a sharp nod and left the room.

The moment she was gone, the air behind Dean stirred with the beat of wings.

‘Cas.’

‘You called.’ 

Cas walked around the table to face Dean, his face etched in sadness. Dean didn’t need to ask him to confirm Marissa’s findings. It was obvious by the angel’s expression that she was correct. He caught Dean’s steely, hard-bitten look and shook his head. 

‘Dean, you know I can’t—‘

‘But you’re going to,’ Dean said.

‘Dean…’ Sam’s voice was thin, far off. Dean could feel him slipping, and that frightened him. 

This baby may not have been expected or the most well planned event in their lives, very little was; but it had started a domino effect that was leading them as close to a normal life and family as either of them had ever known. Sam would take the loss of their baby harder than anything that had happened to him so far, and that was saying a lot where Sam was concerned; but it was the loss of that fledgling life of safety and family that he would mourn the most. Sam had suffered a lot in his life, more than most people could endure, more even than Dean thought he himself could endure, but he was afraid this one thing was going to be the last grain of sand in the glass that shattered it all. 

'Dean, please…don't.'

Dean sat back down in the chair, stared Sam straight in the eye. 'You said you believed, Sammy.'

'I do,' Sam whispered. 'I do, but she's right. You know she's right. Please. Don't do this.'

Dean leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to Sam's sweat damp forehead. 'I promise I'll make it all right, Sam. Just like always.'

He rolled his eyes upward to Cas who was looking from one to the other of them, bewildered. 

'Use my soul.'

'Dean. No.' 

Cas backed up a step and Sam grabbed for Dean's shirt collar as he made to stand up. Dean carefully peeled his fingers away and held his hand tight, but stood up and glared at Cas. 'That kind of power's gotta be good for something. If it can throw a body a hundred years into the past, it can sure as hell jump start a life.'

'It can, but—'

'Then do it.'

Cas looked pained, shifting his gaze to Sam as if for help, but Sam's eyes were for Dean, lost between hope and horror. 'Dean, the human soul is incredibly powerful, but not infinite. What you're asking me to do…if it works, the cost could be…'

'What?' Sam rasped, eyes still on Dean.

Cas hesitated. 'Your life, Dean.' Dean swallowed, but said nothing. Cas continued. 'Or decades, or maybe just years. I can't quantify it for you. I've never done it. I'm not even sure it _can_ be done.'

'But you'll try,' Dean said. It wasn't a question. It was a demand. 

Sam finally managed to free his fingers and fisted the hem of Dean's shirt to drag him closer. 'Dean, don't you dare. Please!'

'If this is what it takes, Sam.'

'But what if it takes too much! What if it takes everything you have to give, and it still isn't enough? Or it is, but you're gone?' Sam's arm curled around the swell of his belly while tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. 'I want our baby, Dean. So much.' He lifted his gaze. 'But I _need_ you. You said yourself there could be others…'

But Sam choked on the words, a sob ambushing him, and he turned his face away into the pillows again. Dean curved a hand at the back of his neck and squeezed reassuringly. He looked across him to Cas. 

'Do it,' he said quietly. 'Do what it takes, just…leave me what you can.'

Cas came around the table reluctantly to stand by Dean's side, started rolling up his sleeve. 'You'll probably want to sit back down for this.'

'Dean, no…no, no! Don't you—' 

Sam's protests were cut off as Cas reached with two fingers to brush against his forehead, and Sam dropped back on the pillows unconscious.

'It will be easier for him,' Cas explained. 

Dean eyed him warily. 'Will it hurt him…them?'

'No,' Cas assured. 'But for you…'

'Yeah, I remember,' Dean grumbled, stripping his belt from its loops and setting it between his teeth before he sat down in the chair. He fumbled for a moment on where to put his hands because he was going to need something to hold onto, but he didn't want to risk waking or hurting Sam. Cas stepped forward far enough that Dean could get a grip and curl his hands around Cas' hips. 

'Don't want to break you, man.'

'I'll survive,' Cas said with a sad smile. 'Ready?'

Dean took a deep breath and nodded once. Cas reached out to place a hand against the curve of Sam's belly beneath the sheet and arrowed the other into the space just below Dean's sternum.

Dean had watched Cas do this twice. Once to the little boy they had needed information from all those years ago and once to Sam when Cas had suspected he was minus his soul. Bobby had done it, too, but Dean hadn't been around to see it. He knew it was painful, but feeling the white hot tips of Cas' fingers piercing through him, reaching deeper than any Harpy's talon or Werwolf claw could ever go, was like saying the sky was blue. It was true, but an understatement of incredible magnitude. 

Cas drove deeper until Dean swore he could feel the sharp heat of Cas' hand against his spine and thought he may either pass out, explode, or spontaneously combust. He bit down into the leather of his belt, leaving teethmarks behind, deep ones that would probably always be there from now on to remind him of the one more stupid stunt he pulled in order to save Sam again. Except it was more than Sam this time. This time there was another life, an innocent one, one that hadn't even had a chance yet, and Dean couldn't let that go.

Cas turned his hand, and it felt like he'd curled his fingers upward and gotten a grip on Dean's heart. He could hardly breathe for the pain and pressure in his chest.

'Hold on, Dean,' Cas murmured. 'I've almost…'

It was like being plugged into a power socket, but in reverse. Dean felt the energy flow out of him, so fast it left him lightheaded and dizzy and feeling a little like he couldn't hold onto the inside of his own skin. Like he might float away. 

'Stay with me, Dean,' Cas urged near his ear. 'Hold onto me.'

Dean remembered Cas beneath his grip and concentrated on the solid feel of him, grounded himself in the physical form of Jimmy Novack, the way his hips were just slightly uneven, but the bones were strong and healthy beneath the skin, beneath the layers of polyester and cotton that Cas had clothed himself in for eight years. 

'Good, Dean. Good.' 

Cas' voice was further away than it had been just a moment ago, and Dean tightened his fingers, thumbs digging into the groove of Cas' hipbones. He felt himself falling forward and rising up at the same time, felt the drain of energy slow, not because Cas had pulled all he needed, but because it was all Dean had to offer. He felt himself starting to lose his grip. 

'Dean?' Cas' hand twisted, started to withdraw, but Dean hunched over, pinned him. 

'Keep. Going.'

'Dean, you'll…die.'

He was separating from himself. He could feel it. He had thought it might feel a little like the time Yellow Eyes had possessed their dad and nearly killed Dean, when he was stuck in the ether with Tessa, his Reaper, and couldn't get back in his body even though he could feel it in a ghost-limb sort of way. This felt more like evaporating, sublimating into…whatever a person became when they died.

He spit the leather out and fell forward until his head rested on Cas' shoulder. 'Our baby…Cas…'

'It'll be enough, Dean, if I…'

Dean nodded. 'Tell Sam…'

He didn't finish. There was too much to tell Sam, and he wasn't going to want to hear it from Cas. No reason to have to say it anyway. Sam would know.

But Cas nodded his promise anyway, tipped his cheek to rest it against Dean's hair. 

'I'll walk you home, Dean,' he said quietly.

People talked about white lights when they died, if they were lucky enough to come back from it, but maybe that was only for near-death experiences. Maybe real death was only dark, because that's all Dean saw when he let his last breath go.

 

Dean was pretty sure Heaven wasn't suppose to smell like antiseptic, or feel like he'd been run over by a herd of wild moose in mating season, or have chairs that were too short for someone of his length and breadth and left kinks in the neck.

'Welcome to the land of the living.'

Dean shifted, winced, cracked an eye and looked over at Sam who was sitting cross legged in a pair of blue cotton scrub pants and his t-shirt on a hospital bed about nine inches to Dean's right. He looked healthy and if not happy at least not devastated. Dean's eye dropped to the swell in Sam's lap, the stretch of soft navy cotton over the heavy curve of his belly. Sam caught the direction of his brother's gaze and stroked a hand over the swell. 

'She's good, Dean. You did it.'

Dean's heart turned over in his chest and he had to scrub a hand over his face to hide the unexpected tears that slipped from the corners of his eyes. He rolled into a mostly upright position, stiff muscles pulling and joints popping and cracking in protest, until he could get his feet on the floor and lean forward far enough to reach Sam's hand. He squeezed it hard.

'Told you I could.'

'Yeah,' Sam said.

Dean blinked at the still over-bright light of morning and squinted up at his brother. 'You sound less than thrilled somehow.'

Sam ducked his head, cheeks pinking up a little in shame, but his eyes were desperate and on fire when he looked back, fierce like Dean was used to seeing when Sam got riled and righteous.

'How long, Dean?'

'Well, that sounds familiar,' Dean quipped.

Sam jerked his fingers free and folded his arms across his chest. 'How. Long.'

Dean leaned forward on his knees and scrubbed at his bristly hair with both hands. 'Honestly? I have no idea. But aren't we focusing on the wrong thing here?' He looked pointedly at Sam's middle. 'Has Marissa checked you out?'

'Yes. She did. The baby's fine. She has no idea how, but her heartbeat is going strong and she's—' Sam winced a little and rubbed at the side of his belly. 'Making up time for her little respite.'

'Good.' Dean nodded. He pinched between his eyes. He was exhausted, even though he must have slept for nearly eighteen hours. 'Where's Cas?'

'No idea,' Sam said. 'He was gone before I woke up. I don't image he stuck around to try and explain the situation. But you're avoiding my question.'

Dean pushed up out of the chair and went to the side of the bed. He picked up one of Sam's hands and held it tight. 'It doesn't matter, Sam.' He laid his other hand against Sam's belly and felt the familiar tumble he'd become so accustom and very attached to over the last few weeks. He smiled. 'Our baby's okay. That's what matters.'

Sam gave up his affronted pretense and slumped forward into his brother's arms, winding his arms around his waist and pulling him as close as their positions would allow. 'I know that, Dean. I do, but…what did it cost? How long do you have?'

Dean dipped his head to kiss Sam's hair, tucking his head into his shoulder. 'Sam, I don't know. I actually thought…'

 _I'll walk you home, Dean_.

Dean remembered slipping away into the dark, into the nothing, hearing Cas' words like a promise, if he would just hold on for a moment. Just wait. 

'Dean?'

'Nothin', Sam.' Dean kissed him again. 'It's nothin'. I guess we'll just have to ask Cas and see what he knows the next time we see him. For now? I feel fine. You're fine. Our baby is alive and healthy.' He tipped Sam's face up and found his eyes shining a little with unshed tears. 'That's all I need, Sam.'

Sam nodded. He wasn't satisfied, but he couldn't look this gift horse in the mouth. Dean was right. They were together and alive and healthy. It was much better than the alternative of less than twenty-four hours ago. He lifted up so Dean could brush a chaste kiss against his mouth. He sighed into it, felt their baby girl alive inside him, and Dean alive and breathing against him.

He would just have to hope that this miracle didn't come at too high a price.


	6. Dealing

May 2006

  


They had been riding together again for nearly six months.

It surprised Sam in some ways and not at all in others how easily they fell in sync with one another like the last four years had been some prolonged, drug induced Djinn dream that, in real time, had lasted only days or hours. As easily as they clicked back together though, dovetailing into old habits, there was still an uneasiness between them. Whether it was the years alone or just Dean seeing his baby brother through more grown up eyes, he had developed a personal pocket of space that Sam was no longer able or allowed to breach with the kind of carelessness he once had.

Sam had his issues too, of course. First and foremost being Jess. It had taken him the first two years at Stanford to get enough time and distance between himself and his big brother’s flat out rejection of him in order to, if not forgive Dean, then to accept what his brother didn’t want, or at least didn’t want with Sam. Meeting Jess had helped him in ways he might otherwise never have managed on his own, and he had finally begun to see his way clear of his old life and into living a new one with Jess and a family of his own. A life that did not include Dean.

Then the fire had swept all of that away and dropped him right back where he’d started, with nothing but his brother and the car and the road.

Dean had kept his careful distance from Sam, never alluding or hinting to anything about their relationship before, and Sam had let it stand because he was too wrapped up inside his own grief and pain to acknowledge it one way or the other. It took Dean nearly dying from electrocution to shake loose all the old feelings in Sam—and God did they need airing out—but he was still careful to keep them to himself or at least not let them spill over into anything other than expected brotherly affection.

Until Cassie.

Sam tried to tell himself he was glad Dean had found someone he could actually say ‘I love you’ to and mean it, someone he could confide some truth about himself in, no matter how briefly it had lasted.

But it was a lie.

Every shared look, the way the heat ratcheted up in the immediate space whenever they were in proximity to one another, the night Dean hadn’t come back to the motel room (because he always came back, even if he went out with the specific purpose of getting laid, he was always back in the bed across from Sam by morning); all of it grated on Sam, poking at memories he’d fought long and hard to bury, igniting a jealousy in him he had not been aware of. He gave the appropriately expected smirks and even offered words of consolation as Dean donned a pair of sunglasses to hide the sheen of unexpected tears and slouched down in the seat to sleep away his pain as they drove away from Cape Girardeau, Missouri. 

But by the time they reached their two and a half star hotel of choice around eight that night, Sam was disproportionally furious and slamming doors and slinging bags like he wanted to break something. Maybe Dean’s face.

‘What the hell crawled up your ass and died?’ Dean finally asked after Sam had thrown the bathroom door open so hard for the third time in ten minutes that it bounced back on its hinges.

‘Nothing,’ Sam grumbled and threw himself into the chair by the window and proceeded to tear his laptop out of his bag and drop it on the table with a clatter.

‘Right,’ Dean said, scowling and leaving off unpacking his duffle. '‘Cause trying to tear our room apart this early in the evening without the influence of alcohol is normal for you. What the hell’s up with you?’

‘Nothing!’ Sam snapped. He flung up the laptop screen and started to pound on the keys.

‘Sammy…’

Sam blew out an irritated breath at his brother’s warning tone, as if that was going to work on him anymore. ‘I’m hungry, okay,’ he lied. ‘I haven’t eaten since this morning. My blood sugar’s…low. Just. Go get us some food, and I’ll be fine.’

Dean very slowly and deliberately got to his feet, came up behind Sam, hooked a finger on the top of the computer screen, and pulled it closed with a quiet snap.

‘Says the man I damn near had to force feed for six weeks after Palo Alto,’ Dean said in a low voice, too husky for his own good, and way too close to Sam’s ear. ‘That the best you can do, Sammy? Low blood sugar?’

‘Damn it, Dean!’ Sam shoved back in his chair, intending to set his brother off balance, but Dean was ready for the move, giving a little hop backward and catching Sam with a hand against his chest when he whirled around and lurched toward Dean. He was equally ready for the left hook Sam pulled out, catching it in his own open fist and shoving Sam back into the table. Sam struggled, swearing viciously, but Dean had him bent slightly backward, not a good position to get much leverage from, and had Sam’s thighs bracketed with his own and pinned tightly. He left off his struggling, glared into Dean’s smirking face, and then he did the only thing he could do.

He kissed him.

It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t gentle, and there was more violence than affection in it. Sam expected Dean to throw him off, to dump him on his ass on the carpet and stand over him with a disgusted look of betrayal on his face. But Dean didn’t do any of that.

Sam couldn’t help the pathetic whine in the back of his throat when Dean leaned into the kiss, giving back in equal measure the grind of lips and bite of teeth. Sam unconsciously bucked upward with his hips and felt the hard hot line of Dean’s erection poke him in the groin.

Dean laughed, low and breathy and hot, into the kiss. ’Little fucker. If that’s what you wanted, all you had to do was ask.’

Sam’s eyes shot wide. He bit down on Dean’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood. ‘Hey-!’ Dean tilted back and Sam hooked an ankle behind Dean’s leg and shoved hard. Dean went stumbling backwards, hit the edge of the bed and dropped onto it, staring up at Sam in shock while he wiped blood away from his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘What the fuck, Sam!’

‘You…son of a bitch!’ Sam hissed and launched himself at Dean, crashing them both into the mattress so that the headboard thunked solidly into the wall. Sam straddled Dean’s hips and leaned on his shoulders, keeping him pinned to the bed. Dean could have grappled with him, could have easily thrown Sam off, but he just laid there glaring up at him through thinly veiled shock.

‘How dare you?’ Sam’s voice was broken with tears he refused to shed. ‘You throw me away and go find someone else and then just…kiss me?’

‘Sammy, what’re you—?’

‘You didn’t want me!’ Sam nearly screamed. ‘So I left. I left to go find someone who did, and you— You probably fucked your way through the lower forty-eight until you found her and then—’

Sam ran out of breath, sagged over Dean, red-faced and only able to shake his head, bereft, as the tears started to flow.

Dean went lax beneath Sam’s hands, the shock on his face transmuting to confusion and then pain.

‘Is that what you thought?’ he croaked. ‘All this time? That I didn’t want you?’ Sam sniffed and nodded. Dean scowled hard. ‘It was you that did the leaving, Sammy, not me. _You_ left _me_ behind.’

Sam sat up a little, some of the righteous rage returning to burn away his tears. ‘You said 'never', Dean, and then you wouldn’t touch me again after that.’

Dean pushed up on his elbows, sending Sam back onto his haunches. ‘You were gone inside of six months, Sam, and you shut down on me. You wouldn’t let me touch you even when I tried. You wouldn’t even talk to me.’

Sam rubbed his palms in his thighs, brow furrowed, trying to think about those last months. He’d been so wrapped up in his own hurt, he’d missed the pained looks when he dodged his brother’s touch or left the room without speaking to him, even when he asked a simple thing like ‘how was your day, Sammy?’

It was all there in his memory, though. His brain had cataloged it all even if he’d refused to process it at the time. He stared down at Dean.

‘I thought…’

Dean sat up on his hands, still scowling. ‘Yeah, well, for as damn smart as you’re supposed to be, you thought wrong.’

‘But you…’ Sam shook his head, confused, then he narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, eyes flashing hot with anger again. ‘What about her?’

‘Cassie?’ Dean met him glare for glare. ‘You were gone, Sam. Fucked off to college like a big boy and dumped my ass to fend for itself. What was I supposed to do, huh? Pine after you like a little girl? Far as I knew, you were never comin’ back, so what good was that gonna do me?’

‘Did you really love her?’

‘Yeah.’ Dean said, unrepentantly.’ Yeah. I really did.’

‘Fuck you!’ Sam shoved Dean back into the mattress, leaning all his weight onto him, and bending down until their mouths were a scant couple of inches apart. ‘Just…fuck you.’

Dean breathed out slow, lifted him chin defiantly. ‘If you wanna, little brother.’

Sam swore viciously and fell on Dean’s mouth like a feral creature half starved. He nipped and bit and licked until Dean opened for him on a loud grown, and then he thrust his tongue in deep, excavating his brother’s mouth of everything hot and sweet, right down to the air from Dean’s lungs, so that he nearly choked and had to gasp for breath.

‘Oh, I want to, Dean, and I’m going to,’ Sam whispered, already reaching between them to work zippers loose. Dean helped him along by undoing shirt buttons, and it was only a matter of seconds before they were clumsily tearing at boot and shoelaces, and shucking their jeans. Sam climbed back up on top of his brother, kneeling so that his dick curved out, heavy and thick, for Dean to clearly see what he was taking on. Dean’s pupils expanded and he ran his tongue along his bottom lip. His dick twitched against his belly and he reached for Sam’s hips.

Sam stopped him. ‘Where are you in your cycle, Dean?’

Dean’s eyes darkened, but not with desire. ’I am not fucking you, Sam,’ he said sternly.

‘No?’

‘No,’ Dean said. ‘That’s the deal.’

Sam held above him for a moment, then scooted forward and sank down to rub his ass on Dean’s cock. ‘Fine. But I still want to know.’ Dean frowned at him quizzically. ‘I want to know if you gave it to her, Dean.’

Dean dropped his head back to the mattress and sighed, not needing to ask what 'it' was. ‘No, I didn’t,’ he said after a long minute.

Sam stilled a moment. It wasn’t the answer he wanted because that meant Dean had sex with Cassie because he wanted to, because he’d loved her just like he said. He wasn’t sure either answer would have been right, though, because he would be just as upset if Dean had born his egg inside Cassie, whether or not she had no ability to keep it.

Sam ground his ass against Dean’s cock again, getting his brother’s attention back and, and dropped down on his hands.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because that’s my part of this deal.’ Dean raised a brow. ‘Either you give your eggs to me—’

‘Not gonna happen, Sammy.’

Sam shrugged. ‘Or you never give them to anyone else again. Me, or nobody, Dean.’

Dean glared at him for a few seconds like he was actually considering refusing, then gave a sharp single nod.

It was all Sam needed. He twitched, full body shivering like the prelude to a seizure, and then he was on Dean, sliding down between his thighs, filling his mouth with his brother’s cock and moaning around it like a dying man. Dean had forgotten how good his little brother’s mouth was, how hot and wet it got, how agile his tongue could be, tucking up and licking into Dean’s slit, pulling out a dribble of pre-cum that had him moaning all the louder for more, then flattening it out and pressing, undulating, against the thick throbbing vein on the underside.

Dean fisted the sheets, trying to keep his hands out of Sam’s hair, trying not to just grab hold of those unruly, silken waves and fuck his brother’s sweet, hot mouth until they both came long and hard.

‘Jesus, Sammy,’ Dean rasped. ‘Thought you were gonna fuck me, not suck me.’

He felt Sam laugh around his mouthful of cock and nearly came from the vibration and the wicked, dirty look in Sam’s golden dark eyes. Sam pulled off with a wet pop, and Dean shivered at the sudden cold wash of air on his wet cock.

‘Oh, I’m gonna do both, Dean.’ Sam grinned wolfishly and swiped the flat of his tongue from Dean’s balls up to the swollen, velvety, mushroomed head before he hooked his hands under Dean’s knees and pushed them up into Dean’s chest, presenting his ass and spreading his cheeks nicely for Sam’s next move.

‘Lube’s in the…bag…’ Dean panted.

‘Not just yet,’ Sam said, leaning down to breathe warm across Dean’s furled hole.

‘S-Sammy?’

Sam dipped his head and licked a hot, wet stripe across Dean’s hole eliciting a sharp, half choked cry. He grinned and did it again, and again, until Dean was quivering and begging in jumbled syllables of sound and broken words that all ended on Sam’s name. He reached for the lube then and slicked himself up, gripped Dean’s hips and lifted him up on top of his thighs, then leaned forward and pushed the head of his cock against Dean’s still tight, wet hole.

The shock of it made Dean cry out again and grab at Sam’s hands where they still gripped Dean’s hips hard to hold him in position. Sam knew he was too tight, too little prepared, and the push of Sam’s swollen head against the un-stretched ring of muscle probably burned like a bitch. Dean tensed with the pain, trying to lift away from it, but Sam wouldn’t let him. He jerked Dean back and pushed harder until he felt the secondary muscle opening, giving way to Sam’s girth.

Sam wanted this to hurt. He wanted Dean to feel it—now, tomorrow morning, for the rest of the week. He wanted Dean to hurt for all those years he’d left Sam in this limbo, and he wanted him marked in a way that Dean would always remember: he was Sam’s now, and Sam’s alone.

Sam conceded only in going slowly. He wanted Dean to hurt but not to be damaged. It was a long, slow slide into Dean’s tight, clenching heat until Sam was seated with his balls against Dean’s ass. Dean’s cock had softened from the pain, lying limp in a puddle of pre-cum on his belly, but that, Sam knew, wouldn’t last as soon as he started to move.

Sam shifted his grip and thrust his hips upward and pulled out slow, dragging against Dean’s prostate the whole way. Dean let out another clipped cry and grabbed at the headboard to brace himself as Sam drove back in, punching that spot expertly again.

‘You’ve got…experience with this,’ Dean wheezed as Sam thrust in again.

‘Yeah, well,’ Sam grated out, because he was having just as much trouble holding back his orgasm with Dean clenching all around him as Dean was having his prostate unrelentingly stimulated. ‘I didn’t meet Jess right away.’

Dean didn’t answer, couldn’t, as Sam stroked into him again, this time surer and a little rougher. He just braced himself on the flimsy headboard and let Sam pound into him slow and deep and hard. Demanding.

That was a good word, because Sam was demanding everything for himself right now, and Dean had no such delusions about himself that he wouldn’t give it to him.

‘Jesus, Sammy, I can’t— I’m gonna—’ Dean gasped and answered Sam’s last thrust by ramming himself down on his brothers cock and coming in thick, hot, near painful pulses, back arcing off the bed as he groaned out his orgasm.

Dean’s body tense and clenching around him, all his beautiful muscles picked out, and miles of pale skin glistening with sex-sweat, sent Sam over the edge. He hunched in on himself, coming in scorching spurts in Dean’s ass, filling him until he overflowed and dribbled out around Sam’s softening cock.

Sam reluctantly withdrew and let Dean’s hips back down on the bed so his brother could sprawl out. He collapsed beside him, panting, blinking his vision clear of the static white that had overcome him. They lay in silence for several minutes, bodies cooling slowly in the still air. Sam finally reached a hand out to press over Dean’s heart. Dean turned his head, eyes open and much more alert than Sam expected, or felt himself. Sam just lay there looking at him. Dean blinked once, then lifted his hand to cover Sam’s over his heart.

‘We’re good, little brother,’ Dean said quietly, answering the unasked question in Sam’s eyes. ‘Now, go to sleep.'

***

The next morning Dean was moving around the room stiffly, sitting gingerly, and whether or not Sam had intended the painful reminder last night, he felt bad about it this morning and winced every time Dean forgot, moved to fast, and flinched because of it.

Sam closed the laptop and pushed it aside, turning into the room, elbows on his knees while he followed Dean with his eyes as he tidied up the room. Dean had been gone by the time Sam woke up, and didn’t return until forty-five minutes later after Sam was showered and dressed and skimming the news online.

‘Damn diner was packed,’ Dean had mumbled, dropping a plastic bag with two styrofoam containers on the table and handing Sam a steaming cup of coffee.

Sam didn’t argue, although he suspected Dean had spent a good portion of that time driving around, not waiting for breakfast at the diner, or at least sitting with his own thoughts in the relative silence of the Impala, if Dean’s version of silence included Metallica at half volume. He hadn’t said anything else since.

Sam rubbed his palms together. They were clammy with sweat.

‘Dean, we need to talk about this.’

For a minute, Sam thought Dean was going to ignore him, try and play it dumb, but then he turned around and looked Sam straight in the eye.

‘Nothin’ to talk about, Sam.’

‘Dean, of course there’s something to talk about—’

‘Anything you said last night that you didn’t mean?’ Dean asked, cutting him off.

Sam sat back, taken a little off guard. ‘No,’ he said tightly. ‘No, there isn’t.’

‘Okay then.’

‘But, Dean—’

‘Sammy, you made it clear what you wanted. I agreed to it. Deal’s made. Said and done.’

Sam just stared. ‘Dean, it’s not that simple.’

‘It is that simple,’ Dean said. He threw down the t-shirt he was folding and sat on the edge of the bed, carefully. 'Look. Sam, we got our wires crossed, and I mean really crossed, a while back, and no, its not gonna be okay right away, but it will be eventually.

‘Nothing has ever changed about what I feel for you, and it probably never will. I’m okay with that, and with this.’ He motioned to the room at large to include everything that had happened the night before. ’So long as we’re crystal clear on one thing, Sam: I am never, ever gonna bear my eggs in you, so don’t ask me to.’

Sam felt the old anger rushing to the fore at Dean’s words, all the hurt from that one afternoon so long ago colliding with him head on. His eyes prickled with angry tears but he forced them back.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘So long as you don’t give them to anyone else either.’

‘I agreed to that,’ Dean said calmly.

‘Okay.’

‘Okay, then.’ Dean nodded. ‘That’s all that needs saying.’

Dean went back to tidying and Sam turned back to the laptop, though he had a hard time seeing through his suddenly watery vision.

It wasn’t all that needed saying. Not by a long shot, but it was all that was going to get said.

For now.


	7. Hope for Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is still angry and uncertain about his brother's decision and how much time it may or may not have left him with, and while sex won't cure it, it couldn't hurt either.

Present Day

 

Dean expected the silence on the drive home, especially after Sam refused to do anymore shopping for the baby and wouldn't even go up to the hotel room to retrieve what few purchases they had made. It was like what little faith he'd garnered that this was all going to turn out okay had been crushed out of existence and now he was just waiting for it all to be over.

What he didn't expect was the constant, close eye Sam was keeping on _him_.

'Sam, I'm fine,' Dean said after Sam's tenth long, scrutinizing look in as many minutes. 

Sam turned his gaze front. 'You should have let her check you out, Dean.' 

Dean sighed in frustration. 'I don't need to be checked out. She couldn't have told you what you wanted to know anyway.'

'You don't know that!' Sam snapped.

'Hey.' Dean scowled. 'I get you're upset—' 

'Upset?' Sam's eyebrows crawled up to his hairline.  'Dean, upset doesn't even begin to cover it!'

'Sam, I am _fine_ for Chrissakes.' Dean's temper was starting to wear thin, mostly because he was hurt by Sam's reaction to all this. 'What the hell was I supposed to do? Huh? Let her die? Could you have forgiven me for that?'

Sam unconsciously wound his arms around his mid-section in a gesture of protection even as he glared back at Dean. 'I don't know!'

'Well, I sure as hell couldn't have forgiven myself!' Dean shot back..

Sam flinched from his brother's anger and then swore under his breath, grimacing and pressing hard at a spot on the lower curve of his belly.

'Dammit,' he hissed and hunched forward in the seat. 

'Sam?' Dean reached across the seat to grip his shoulder, all his previous anger quickly supplanted by renewed worry. 'You okay?'

'Yes! Just—' he shrugged off Dean's grip and flapped his hand at the window. 'Pull over. I need to pee."

Dean pulled off at an abandoned exit with a broken down gas station whose store front had given way to the elements long ago and fallen in. Sam lurched out of the car before Dean could get out and give him a hand and went around the side of the building just out of sight but not out of earshot.

The sun was high overhead but diffused by a thick layer of clouds that were greying up toward the south. They'd likely be driving into rain in an hour or so. Dean leaned against the side of the Impala and scuffed the dry dirt with the heel of his boot while he waited for Sam to come back. He hadn't meant to get so upset at his brother. It just hurt that Sam would think Dean believed their baby was…expendable.

Sure, Dean wasn't exactly a 'doting daddy.' He wasn't all touchy-feely, but Sam really wasn't either, and there _were_ moments when Dean wanted nothing more than to spread both his hands against the curve of Sam's belly and revel in the feel of life inside him, but he wasn't sure how, really didn't know _if_ , Sam would even put up with that. It didn't mean he didn't care, though. Far from it. He just wasn't sure how to show it. Nothing new there.

'Dean?'

Sam had settled beside Dean against the car, still rubbing at the side of his belly.

'She misbehaving?' he asked tentatively.

'Yeah, a little,' Sam grimaced. 'I'll take that over the alternative, though.'

'Yeah,' Dean nodded slowly. 'Look, Sam, I—'

'I know, Dean,' Sam sighed, scooting a little closer. 'You did the only thing you could. I shouldn't have expected any less, any different."

Dean pushed off the car and stepped around to bracket Sam's legs with his own. Sam let out a startled breath when Dean laid his hands tentatively against the curve of Sam's belly and lifted, enough that he was actually holding the weight of their baby between them.

'Sam, you know how I feel about you.'

'Yeah,' Sam breathed, not daring to disturb the look of awe on Dean's face with anything louder.

'You know what I would do—have done—for you.' Sam nodded, eyes filling. 'That I can't—can't live without you. It's the same—' Dean's voice cracked and shook. He continued in a low rasp. 'The same goes for this little life that's us, Sam. I can't—'

'Oh, God…Dean.' Sam flung his arms around Dean's neck and swallowed his next words with a desperate kiss. Dean sagged against him, arms going to circle Sam's waist. Sam tasted tears in the kiss, backed off enough to see them streaming from the corners of Dean's eyes.

'I'm sorry. Dean,' he whispered. 'God. I'm so sorry, I—'

This time, Dean hushed Sam, kissing him deep and leaning him back against the Impala. Sam arched up into, panting when Dean let his mouth go to trail a line of hot kisses across his jaw and down his neck to his collarbone. Sam's hands fisted in Dean's shirt and pulled him in.

'Dean.' Sam's groan was needy and wanton.

'I know, babe. I know,' Dean rasped warm against Sam's skin. Without preamble, he reached between Sam's legs and palmed the hard swell he found there. Sam bucked into his hand. 

'Dean!' He panted and squirmed, frustrated that the bulk of his belly was keeping him from the friction he so wanted.

'Shh, shhhh, Sammy,' Dean crooned as he deftly opened Sam's jeans and slipped his hand inside. Sam moaned loudly and pushed into Dean's palm. He tugged on Dean's coat. 'Dean, c-can we? Please?'

Dean chuckled. 'You feel up for it?'

Sam rolled his eyes at the pun and moaned out, 'Yes… God, yes.'

'How do you want it, baby brother?' Dean asked. Working at the buttons of Sam's flannel, parting it so he could take one hard nipple in his mouth and suck until Sam whimpered. 'Want me to suck you off, or…?' Dean pressed backward with his fingers, nudging at Sam's hole through his boxers. Sam immediately spread his legs and slouched down to give Dean freer access.

'Yes... fuck me, Dean. Please!'

Dean nodded his assent and went to work on Sam's other nipple while he worked gently at Sam's hole with his other hand. Sam gasped and pawed at Dean's coat, kneading and tugging at the fabric in frustration.

'Easy, Sammy,' Dean crooned again. He reached behind Sam and opened the rear door, swinging it wide, partly to help hide them from any chance drive-bys, but also because Dean knew Sam wasn't going to be comfortable in the cramped back seat or squished up against the door. He turned Sam around, urged him forward into the space created by the open door and guided his arms up so he could lean over the roof of the car.

'Dean... ' Sam's voice was a little choked over his brother's thoughtfulness.

Dean kissed the back of his neck, settled his hands on Sam's hips and scooted his jeans down to bare the beautiful curve of his ass.

'Take care of you right, babe,' Dean whispered. He unzipped his own jeans and shoved them down to free the thick, hard length of his own aching cock. He pushed up against Sam's backside, nudging his cock between Sam's cheeks, leaking steadily with a sudden, urgent wanting. Sam reached back, propping himself with a shoulder on the edge of the doorframe, and spread himself open with both hands. Dean grunted in an effort not to breach that perfect pink ring with his cock right then and there. With effort, he stripped himself a couple of times to coat his fingers in pre-cum and then pushed one digit smoothly up into Sam's tight, clenching heat.

Sam groaned and spread himself wider, pushing back against Dean's thrusting finger. He slipped against the door frame, knees gone weak and wobbly. Dean caught him with an arm around his hips, under the curve of his belly and boosted him up, taking his weight.

'More,' Sam begged. 'Please, more.'

Dean obliged him with a second finger, working him open with deep, hard thrusts across his prostate. He could feel Sam's cock twitching and bobbing against his forearm, and when he glanced down, he saw two wet little pools in the dry dust between their feet.

Sam squeezed down hard on Dean's fingers. 'Put it in, Dean,' he demanded huskily. 'Want you inside me... fill me.'

Dean growled into the nape of Sam's neck and withdrew his fingers. He stripped himself, slicking up, and held them both steady as he pushed against that still tight ring of muscle. Sam tensed a little, letting out a litany of huffed 'ah, ah, ahs' even as he braced himself on the Impala's roof and pushed back against Dean's slow thrust.

'Oh, fuck, Sammy…feel so damn good. So hot...' Dean groaned as he slid home, balls deep in his brother's ass.

Sam panted with the fullness of Dean's cock in his ass, stretching him open. He'd broken out into a sweat, and he sucked in a startled breath as a mild cramp crawled across his lower belly. Dean felt it, too, because he froze in place to spread his fingers against Sam's belly as the muscle rippled and contracted beneath his palms. He swore softly and made a move to draw back, but Sam reached around and grabbed his hip.

'No, don't,' he said quickly. 'I'm okay. I'm okay, I promise. Just…'

Sam deliberately relaxed his body, sagging into Dean's strong, ready hold. He breathed deep a couple of times and then started to rock his hips, slow and easy, squeezing down on Dean's cock until he felt it thicken and throb in his ass.

'Sammy,' Dean growled dangerously. He was mere seconds away from coming, driven to the very brink by Sam's slow, rhythmic clenching. 'Sammy, I'm gonna come.'

Sam said nothing, just rocked back harder, pulling Dean deeper still. His own cock was full to bursting, achingly hard, and leaking a steady stream into the dust at his feet. His balls were clenched up hard between his legs, threatening at any second to blow his load all over the ground and seats and his own quivering thighs.

Dean swelled inside him, a last sure sign that he was about to come, and Sam felt both of Dean's hands slide around to spread protectively and cradle his belly. He gasped at the erotically tender gesture and came with a cry and his brother's name on his lips. Dean came a second after that, hot and thick, filling Sam up until he felt bloated and warm and couldn't hold anymore.

They stood panting, braced against each other and the car, in the cool breeze until Sam gave a soft moan and slid downward. Dean maneuvered him to the seat and squatted down, tugging his pants back in place.

'Sammy?'

Sam rubbed his belly in long soothing strokes and breathed deep. 'I think she got a little overexcited at our extra-curriculars.' He tipped his head back against the seat and huffed a laugh. 'And I have to pee again.'

Dean smiled, reassured at Sam's sense of humor, tired though it was. He stood, grabbed a t-shirt from one of their bags and wiped off, zipped up, and then helped Sam to stand. He very gently wiped Sam dry and tugged his jeans back up on his hips.

'How about just going around back of the car,' Dean said, eyeing Sam's shaky knees. 'I don't think I trust you across the lot.'

'Me, neither,' Sam grinned tiredly and moved around the car slowly, keeping one hand on the body for balance. He relieved himself with his back to Dean, keeping any splashes away from the bumper which Dean quietly appreciated.

Dean got Sam tucked into the passenger seat, sleepy and sated and smiling the smile of the well fucked, with Dean's jacket folded up for a pillow, and by the time Dean got his baby up to speed on the highway, Sam was fast asleep.

 

It was early evening by the time they got back to the bunker. Sam had woken up thirty miles back, and even though he didn't say anything, Dean could still tell he was uncomfortable from the long drive.

'Go on in,' Dean said when he'd helped Sam to his feet. 'I'll get our stuff.'

Dean slung their bags over his shoulder and followed Sam inside, but nearly plowed him down at the bottom of the stairs where he'd abruptly stopped.

'Sam, what—?' Dean looked past Sam to the figure of a middle aged woman in a dark navy suit standing in the doorway to the library. Dean dropped the bags, had his gun drawn and Sam behind him before the stranger could take a step forward.

'Who the hell are you?' Dean demanded. 'What are you doing here?'

'Our brother is fallen,' the woman intoned like she was making a pronouncement for the masses.

'What?' Dean scowled and cocked his gun. 

'Dean?' Sam tugged at Dean's shirt sleeve.

'What, Sam?' Dean didn't take his gaze from the intruder.

'Dean, look.'

Dean kept his gun up, but cut his gaze to the side where Sam was pointing at the war room table.

At first, whatever Dean was looking at didn't compute. He had to do a double-take. 'Our brother is fallen,' the woman said again, 'and we will mourn him.' But it finally registered that there was a long, broad feather lying on the glass, as long as Sam's forearm and hand. It was translucent and shimmered faintly blue like it had some inner fire. Sam reached to pick it up gingerly, held it across his palm. It was cool in his hand.

Dean faltered, gun dropping a little. He swallowed hard and looked from the feather to the woman and back again.

'Where's Cas?' he whispered hoarsely.

The woman stepped forward, oblivious of Dean's still raised gun. 'Our brother is fallen, and he bade me deliver you a message.'

'Are you an angel?' Sam asked.

'Where. Is. Cas?' Dean spit out harshly. His hands were starting to shake with a terrible comprehension.

'Our brother is fallen,' the angel repeated, but she inclined her head toward the feather Sam held, 'and he has asked the to tell you that he will see you again soon. One last time.'

'Oh Christ, no.' Dean's gun arm fell to his side and he slumped over the table. Sam laid a steadying hand between Dean's shoulder blades. He frowned at the angel.

"Our brother is fallen,' you mean he's…dead?' he asked.

'Our brother is fallen,' she said again. 'Let us mourn our brother Castiel.' And then she vanished.

'Fucking broken record,' Dean grumbled. He leaned on the table, head hanging, and Sam knew without seeing there were tears in his eyes. He laid the feather down carefully on the table in front of Dean who reached out a tentative finger to trace the quill.

'Dean, we can't be sure,' Sam started softly. 'She did say he would see us again soon—'

'One last time,' Dean finished. He traced the feather again, tenderly. 'Looks a lot like a going-away present, don't you think, Sammy?' 

Sam felt tears of his own surge up at his brother's pained, broken whisper.

'You sonofabitch,' Dean sobbed and pounded the table with the flats of his hands. He shoved back and stormed away toward his room before Sam could say anything else.

 

It was past midnight when Dean finally came to bed, and Sam was honestly a little surprised he came at all and a lot surprised that he was sober. He crawled into bed and spooned up against Sam's back, snaked an arm around his waist, and spread his hand out against the curve of Sam's rounded belly.

Sam lay there for a long moment, eyes screwed shut against fresh tears before he whispered very quietly,

'I'm so sorry. Dean.'

Dean gave him a hard squeeze and mumbled roughly, 'What're you sorry for now, little brother?'

Sam covered Dean's hand where it rested against the swell of his middle and barely managed the next words past the sob lodged in his throat. 'It was too much. Dean. Too much to ask.'

'Don't.' Dean pushed his face into the back of Sam's shoulder. 'Don't you dare. It was his choice.'

'But he never would have made the choice if you—' Sam cut himself off.

'Then that's on me, Sammy.'

Sam's fingers locked around Dean's. 'Two lives for one… Dean, it's not good odds. It's bad math.' He turned his face into the pillow so Dean could barely hear his next words. 'Maybe it wasn't meant to be.'

Dean hugged Sam tighter, curled closer to him, around him. 'Don't do this to yourself, Sam. Cas made his own choice, whatever the consequences. Our baby is alive, and she's going to be born healthy, and raised happy and loved. I want you to believe that. I _need_ you to believe that, Sammy. Otherwise…'

Dean couldn't bring himself to finish and Sam didn't need him to. He knew what Dean meant. Cas had sacrificed his grace, sacrificed himself, for Dean and the life of their child. Sam regretting that or believing things should be any way other than what they were was belittling Cas' gift and his memory. 

'I do,' Sam whispered into the dark. He slotted their fingers together and pressed their hands firmly to the side of his belly where the baby was making her presence in the proceedings known. 'I do believe.'

Dean nodded silently and pressed his cheek to Sam's shoulder blade. Sam could feel the heat of his brother's tears through his thin tee and they burned him, straight through to his heart. Dean needed Sam's strength now, needed him to hope, to hold on to the future for both of them like he had so many times in the past, to carry them through to tomorrow. It was a weight Sam was familiar with, and he had never minded it, but among all his uncertainties right now, it almost felt too heavy.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, tried to focus on the warm, heavy fullness of the life inside him, but the angel's words haunted him,

_He will see you again soon. One last time._


	8. Before the Devil Takes Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a request for his last night on earth.

Dean woke to Sam hovering at his bedside, arms wrapped tight around his ribs and visibly shaking in the weak, watery moonlight coming through the window. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and squinted up at Sam for a moment before he moved soundlessly over to the other side of the bed and lifted the blanket.

They didn't usually do this at Bobby's—kept their noses clean and a respectable distance between them. Bobby wasn't stupid. Dean was pretty sure the old man had a good idea what all the brothers' Winchester relationship entailed. Not in any detailed sense that he would ever admit to, aloud or otherwise, but enough that if he did walk in on them together, he wouldn't go looking for his shotgun and holy water. Nevertheless, Dean had always tried to make it as easy as possible on him and Sam had followed his lead.

But not tonight, and Dean supposed really that was to be expected.

Standing above him, hunched in on himself, Sam looked for all the world just like the teenage moppet he had been not so long ago that Dean couldn't easily make the comparison. It was an odd contrast to the determined young man who had, only a few hours ago, graciously accepted his older brother's acknowledgment of him as an adult with a quiet 'thank you.' The same young man who had also firmly insisted on cleaning up his own mess and throwing Lucifer back in his cage at the cost of his own life.

Dean shuffled up on his side, back to the wall, making another couple inches of space in the bed, and Sam immediately climbed in to burrow close up against Dean's front, fingers twisting into the soft, worn fabric of his t-shirt.

Dean dropped his arm across Sam's shoulders, pulled the blanket close around them both, and settled his cheek against Sam's hair. He said nothing, just lay still and let Sam settle himself, pushing an inch closer here or there until they were one solid mass from shoulder to knee, folding one long thigh over Dean's hip and tucking his toes in under Dean's calf.

The minutes ticked by quietly. Neither of them spoke. Dean kept his arms tight around Sam, feeling the kid's heart thump behind his ribs, hard and rabbit quick, and Dean supposed that was to be expected, too.

'You afraid?' he murmured, voice carefully clear of any kind of rebuke or criticism.

Sam gave a sharp shake of his head, and Dean was about to call his on his bluff when Sam pressed his lips to Dean's throat and whispered,

'Please.'

Dean stiffened, an automatic 'no' coming to his lips because he didn't need to ask 'please, what?' He knew what Sam wanted.

'It won't matter, Dean,' Sam said, a little desperate, sensing the sudden tension in his brother's limbs. 'It won't matter if it happens, because I'll be—'

'Shut up,' Dean cut him off, voice flat. He didn't want to hear the end of that sentence, no matter what form it came in.

'Please,' Sam said again. 'Please. I know you're off in your cycle so it won't happen anyway, but even if it did it wouldn't  matter—'

'I said, shut up,' Dean repeated, voice a little harsher this time, but with repressed grief, not anger.

Sam fell silent.

The kid was right. Dean _was_ off in his cycle, so it really wouldn't matter if he fucked him all night long just to give him a good send off. Thing was, Dean had never relented before even when he was just as sure nothing would come of it, because if he gave Sam an inch, he'd inevitably take a mile, and even if Śam thought this was the end of the line, somewhere in Dean's head it was not. As far as he was concerned Sam was coming back, one way or another. He couldn't deal with this decision otherwise, and if he gave in to Sam now, he knew when he _did_ come back, Dean would never be able to deny him again.

'You think I'm coming back.'

Sam said it matter of factly, like Dean had spoken his thoughts out loud. He pushed his head back on the pillow so that, if they could have seen each other in the dark, he would have been looking Dean straight in the eye.

'I'm not,' he said gently. 'You know I'm not.'

Dean just shook his head once, sharply, teeth clenched to hold back the lump of a sob constricting his throat.

'Dean.' Sam lifted a hand to stroke his brother's cheek.

'Got me out,' Dean managed, his voice a little choked.

'At the cost of a legion of angels,' Sam said. 'I don't think Heaven feels so generous when it comes to me, and it's not like they'd just be breaking me out of Hell,' he pushed on before Dean could object. 'We're talking about Lucifer's lockdown, custom created specially for him by God himself. I don't think the lock will be as easy to pick.'

Dean swallowed back a pained whimper, cupped the back of Sam's head, and tucked him back down against his chest. If Sam noticed he was shaking uncontrollably now, or having a hell of a time getting his lungs to take in air, he said nothing, just curled into his brother's embrace and let Dean hold him.

'Please, Dean,' Sam said again after serval minutes of silence and listening to Dean's heart pound painfully between them. 'Please, give me this to remember, to help me fight him, to help me hang on.'

As if it would be enough, Dean thought angrily. As if anything in the kid's too short life were enough to make him want to fight to hold onto it. Sudden panic seized Dean, closing around his chest like the coils of a preying python. He shuddered harder, felt Sam's hands go still in alarm.

'Dean?'

'Sammy...' Dean managed on a juttering breath, but he had nothing more than that, nothing more to give; and that was the problem, wasn't it? He hadn't given Sam enough of _anything_. Sure, he loved him, had since the very first time Sammy's too long baby fingers had reached out blindly and found Dean's thumb and held on tight like he might never let go, but he'd never remembered to show him enough, never actually told him, and now Sam was going to Hell to be Lucifer's plaything for who knew how long not knowing how Dean really felt.

Dean's arms locked, crushing Sam closer, until he squirmed in protest.

"Ow. Dean... Dean?'

'I love you, Sammy. Jesus, I love you so much.'

Sam fell still, swallowed back the sudden hot push of tears at his brother's confession. 'Dean, I know. I—'

Dean silenced him with a kiss. It was brutal and punishing and hot and messy, and Sam rose up into it with a moan as Dean rolled them over. Before Dean could think or Sam could react, he had pushed up over Sam, forced his legs apart with a knee and settled down into the cradle of his hips. For an instant Sam struggled, never having been here before, spread open and exposed like this for his brother. Dean settled more heavily against him, rocking into his groin, and working his mouth hard. Sam gasped for air, drowning beneath his brother's heat and weight.

'Dean...'

Dean slid his hand down Sam's flank, grabbed his hip with bruising force for a moment and then pushed under the waistband of his sweats. Sam lifted into Dean's warm, rough touch even as he made a mewling sound of protest in his throat.

'Dean, please...'

'Gonna give it to you so good, Sammy,' Dean whispered, pushing his fingers deeper, further back to barely brush at Sam's tight, clenching hole.

'Dean... stop...' Sam locked his thighs around Dean's hips, tried to get a hand between them to push him back.

'Gonna open you up,' Dean continued, ignoring him, nipping sharply at Sam's lower lip, his jaw, his throat. 'Gonna open you up and then fill you full.'

'Stop.'

Sam shoved Dean back with enough force that he had to catch himself on both hands to keep from tumbling off the bed. He stared down at Sam, shocked and angry.

'What the hell, Sammy?' he demanded, but then he looked into his brother's eyes and he saw his answer picked out in the uncertain light of the moon coming through the curtains. Fear. And it hit Dean like three hundred pounds of werewolf.

'You've never...?' he breathed, amazed.

He didn't need to see Sam's face to know he was flushing with embarrassment, he could feel the heat of it when Sam ducked down against him.

'D-didn't want...anyone but you,' Sam whispered.

Dean wanted to scream his frustration because how could he have been so stupid? He'd just assumed since Sam was, by his own admission, experienced, that he was experienced in _everything_. It hadn't occurred to him that Sam would have saved himself all this time on the dim hope that Dean would finally offer to fill him up.

'Dammit,' Dean swore harshly. 'Goddamit.'

Sam shrank from him, but Dean grabbed his arm and pinned him, then just hung above him for a minute trying to process the gravity of Sam's confession. He shook his head slowly, stunned, as his initial anger gave way to a surge of tender possessiveness he'd never felt before. 

Sam was his.

The kid had said so time and again over the last five years while making the same demand of Dean, but Dean hadn't understood the depth of that claim until this moment.

Sam had saved himself for Dean. _Only_ for Dean.

Dean lifted up and sat back on his haunches between Sam's bent knees. Sam whimpered at the loss of contact and tried to roll away, but Dean gripped his thighs and held him in place.

'Dean, I don't—'

'Shh, shh,' Dean hushed him. 'I got you. I got you.' He smoothed his hands up and down, slowly, over Sam's quivering thighs. 'I'm so sorry, Sam. I had no idea. I didn't think.' He licked his lips, tried to collect his thoughts. 'I never thought when you said you belonged to me, that you meant like that. That you had never. After all the time we were apart and Jess and— Sammy, my God, I don't know what to say.'

Sam just lay there, tears streaming down his face because he could never have imagined his saving himself would have this kind of effect on his brother. Dean had no doubt deflowered many a virgin with gentlemanly tenderness but without a second thought as to what that gift meant, and Sam had assumed it would be the same with him.

Dean pushed the covers to the foot of the bed and got up. Sam whimpered again, bereft, and tried to curl into himself, but Dean reached down and flattened a hand against his stomach, holding him still. Sam stared up at him uncertainly.

'I'm gonna take care of you, Sammy,' Dean promised. He waited until Sam gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment and then straightened up, keeping eye contact through the dimness. He hooked the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head and then dragged his sweats down and kicked them off. He stayed standing for a few seconds, letting Sam's eyes travel over him and take him in. He heard his brother's breath hitch a little when he saw the stark outline of Dean's long, hard cock in the wan moonlight.

Something deep in Sam's belly started to stir and flutter and grow warm and fill him up before Dean ever even touched him. His own cock was stretched hard and aching across his belly, poking at the waistband of his sweats. He tentatively lifted the hem of his tee and pulled it up, wiggling out of it and throwing it to the floor. Then Dean leaned down and divested him of his pants, pulling them down slowly, taking in the heat and hardness of him with a hungry gaze.

Never before had Dean wanted so badly to get his mouth around his brother's cock. He was salivating with it, but he fought the urge, reminding himself of what he was doing here. That he was making love to Sam for the first time. No matter how many times Sam had thoroughly fucked him until he'd forgotten how to breath, _this_ was Sam's first time, and Dean would be damned if he rushed any part of it.

Because it was his last time, too.

'Dean?'

Sam's voice was soft, uncertain, and held a note of worry. Dean blinked, unaware he'd frozen above Sam and not sure when he'd begun to cry. He swiped at the silent tears with the back of his hand and climbed back onto the narrow bed, urging Sam's legs apart gently this time and kneeling between them.

He started at the inside of Sam's right knee, cupping the back of his calf and smoothing his palm ahead of the trail of kisses he laid down along the soft, tender inside of Sam's thigh all the way to his balls where he stopped for a moment to nuzzle his cheek and breathe warmly across his cock until it twitched and Sam moaned piteously. He continued on, leaving the same trail of gentle kisses on the inside of Sam's left thigh.

'You're beautiful,' Dean murmured. 'So, goddamn beautiful, Sammy.'

He leaned up then to kiss Sam, this time slower, maybe just as deep and still with an edge of desperation, but gentler, more mindful of his teeth and how he swept the inside of Sam's mouth with his tongue, swallowing each and every one of the needy little sounds he was making.

Sam tried to speak, to tell Dean about the ache in his chest, how he felt like was going to burst already with this feeling inside him that was feeding off his brother's reverent tenderness. Dean was looking at him, touching him, like he was something fragile, and not made of the same tough and resilient bone and sinew that his brother was, but instead like something...precious, and for a moment Sam thought he might shatter at the sudden realization. He sucked in a huge breath against the sob rising up out of his chest, but Dean just swallowed that, too.

'Sam. Sammy,' Dean whispered as he moved down Sam's body, pressing kisses to the hollow of his throat and along the straight, strong lines of his clavicles, suckling needily at each of his taut, pearled nipples, and nuzzling into the warm dip where his ribs came together before he finally set his lips on Sam's cock.

He kissed it chastely, mouthing just the tip at first, tasting the first husky drops of Sam's come on the tip of his tongue. Above him, Sam arced and twisted on the sheets. Dean had gone down on him before, but never with this intent, and it was driving him wild. Dean spread his lips around Sam's velvety, swollen head, swirled around it with his tongue, and licked into the slit, pulling out more hot, sweet-tasting come. Sam moaned and fought the urge to grab Dean's head and thrust deeper into his mouth by tangling his fingers in the sheets. Dean distracted him by sliding his hand under Sam's ass and rubbing a thumb against his hole.

Sam shuddered hard once, and then went lax, legs falling open, fingers going slack. Dean lifted his head and found his brother's breathing had shifted to something quick and shallow with anticipation. Dean pressed harder against the furled muscle, felt it clench and unclench against the pad of his thumb like Sam was trying to open up and draw him in.

Sam went even more limp, oddly quiet in the already near silence. Dean laved a thick, wet stripe from the base of Sam's cock to the head, urging him to give up another thin stream of come. Dean smeared his fingers through it and then pushed one, up to the first knuckle, inside Sam's tight heat.

Sam's whole body jolted and then he flopped into stillness on the sheets again, breathing shallow and rough, eyes wide and staring blindly at the ceiling. Dean held his breath and twisted his fingers, corkscrewing deeper. Sam keened in the back of his throat, and Dean could feel him squeezing around his finger again and again.

'Oh, God...' Dean rasped.

His own cock leaked on the sheets in anticipation of that tight, clenching heat. He'd never done this before, not even to tease his brother. He wasn't that cruel. But he'd had it done to him, so many times, and every time Sam looked just as wrecked by the level of intimacy Dean was allowing him and came unraveled just as completely. Now, Dean had a hint of why, and how his brother felt.

'Jesus, Sammy, so hot...' Dean said as he slicked his fingers more and pushed deeper, as deep and he could go, his own breathing stuttering over the idea of pushing his cock that deep and deeper. His balls clenched and he came a little on the sheets, gasping. 'Fuck, Sam, I wanna—'

'Give me another one, Dean,' Sam whispered hoarsely. 'Give me another one.'

Sam was rocking now, just a little against Dean's probing finger. Dean obliged him with a groan, pushing two fingers up inside him with agonizing slowness. Sam let out a heavy breath like he'd been punched and thrust down on Dean's fingers. He made an odd, choked sound in his throat, and Dean tested it by crooking his fingers until Sam made the sound again.

'Christ, yes!' Sam shuddered as Dean stroked over his prostate. 'Please, Dean, I want you. In me.'

Dean hesitated. Sam had rarely tried to enter Dean with so little preparation. The few times he had, one or both of them had been angry over something and the sex was just an outlet for it, with Sam's intent being for Dean to feel it the morning.

Sam seemed to sense Dean's reluctance, looked down, eyes fierce as he said, 'Do it, Dean. I want him to know. I want that bastard to know when he rides me that you were here first. That I belonged to you first…and always.'

'Jesus Christ, Sam.' Dean's voice was wrecked, drug up from the deepest parts of himself, hidden parts, guarded and armored even against Sam. Parts that were cleaved open and laid bare in an instant at his brother's words. 

He was crying again, they both were, and Dean didn't give a damn. He withdrew his fingers. Sam gave a weak whine at the loss, biting down on his lip. He watched, avidly, trustingly, as Dean got up on his knees, thighs splayed a little, and reached for Sam's hips. Dean pulled him down the bed and up onto his thighs. Sam whined again at the feel of Dean's cock sliding against his ass and just barely nudging his hole.

'Please. Dean, please,' Sam begged.

Dean took a breath, lined himself up, and pushed.

The feel of Sam opening for him, stretching around him and welcoming him into his tight, dry heat was enough to nearly have Dean coming without making a single thrust. Sam grunted softly, straining to take Dean in, forcing his body to relax around the incredible burn and swell in his ass. Dean leaned forward to trail his fingers lightly over Sam's chest, his quivering stomach, coming to rest low on his belly, where his cock lay, still hard and aching despite the pain of Dean stretching him open. He spread his hands there for a minute, felt the firm, slight swell beneath his palms and something inexplicably tightened in his chest.

It was Sam's body's natural reaction to being breached. It was preparing him to take an egg Dean didn't have to offer. Sam lifted a little, pulling Dean's cock an inch deeper and pushing his belly against Dean's warm, calloused palms.

'D-does it hurt?' Dean asked.

Sam stilled, dazed by the question. 'No,' he answered slowly. 'It aches…a little, but that's all.'

Dean shifted his hands, brushing his thumbs over the barely perceptible swell beneath them. His heart hurt, like it was trying to collapse in on itself. Sam had asked for this. He had asked Dean to give him something to fight for, and suddenly Dean wanted—

'Sam, I wish I could…'

'No, Dean. No, ' Sam whispered, broken by tears. 'I was wrong to ask. If I…'

Sam knew what Dean wished, and he wanted it. God help him, he wanted it. He wanted that life inside him, nestled in his belly; but he also knew he was taking on a fight he couldn't win no matter the rewards of victory. If he leaped into that hole tomorrow, knowingly pregnant with their child, it would break his brother. Dean wouldn't survive it. The only reason he was wishing it now was because he thought it might make Sam strong enough to win, but Lucifer's defeat wasn't in the cards no matter what they did. His containment was all they could hope for, and the only way that happened was if Sam went down with him.

Sam grasped Dean's wrists and dragged his hands around to grip his hips again. He blinked the tears from his eyes and forced them from his voice before he said,

'Fuck me, Dean. I want you to fuck me so hard Lucifer feels it for a week.'

Dean shook his head, unwilling to cause Sam any more pain in this, but his brother didn't give him a choice. He planted his feet and lifted up, forcing himself down on Dean's cock with a sharp hiss of pain and a deep groan. Dean tossed his head back, panting, fingers curling into Sam's hip bones, thumbs leaving bruises at the joints.

Sam started to rock then, urging Dean even deeper inside him, clenching and squeezing around his swollen length. His ass was stretched and burning and so full he felt like he'd burst. His cock was throbbing, twitching for release, come leaking all over his belly and running down his sides onto the sheets. Dean had gone ridged above him, panting and moaning, at the mercy of Sam's undulations around his thick, heavy cock.

'Sam, I can't. I want to, but I…' Dean babbled between grunts as he started moving with Sam's rocking rhythm in little aborted thrusts of his hips. 'Oh, God! Sammy…I'm gonna come.'

Sam groaned enormously as Dean gave a last quick, hard thrust and spilled himself hot and deep in Sam's ass. Sam followed suit, grinding down on Dean's still throbbing cock and arching off the bed as he pulsed out his own orgasm with a bitten off cry.

The room was silent for a long time afterward. Shafts of moonlight shifted slowly across the rough floor boards, the rickety nightstand beside the bed, the tangled sheets at the foot of it and spilling on to the floor, and finally crawled across their sweaty bodies still entwined, wrapped in and around each other, so any casual observer would never have been able to see whose limbs belonged to who or where one started and the other ended. 

Dean kept his face tucked in close to Sam's neck, and Sam's fingers played absently, sleepily, in his hair, but neither of them slept. Neither of them spoke. They just laid there, Dean still buried deep inside Sam, Sam with his legs wrapped around Dean's waist and back. Sam's heart had slowed, like his wanting Dean to fill him had been the cause of all his tension, and now that he had that release, all the rest was just washed away. 

Dean's heart was hammering, forced to slowness by his own force of will, but pounding like the noontime strike of Big Ben, nonetheless. He was hot and sticky, and his knees were protesting the angle at which they were bent. He knew he should move and get them both cleaned up and get some sleep. Dawn would come fast, and after that…well, this was going to be the last time they had to rest for a while. But Dean couldn't bring himself to shift his weight off of Sam to even reach for their discarded clothes to wipe up the slick, drying mess between them. He was content to stay, to feel Sam's arms and legs around him, the feel his inner muscles fluttering every once in a while, caressing Dean's softened cock, to feel his long fingers stroking through his hair, and feel his breath glide across his shoulders and back. 

Dean tightened his hold, and Sam returned the hug. Then they just lay still, and let the moonlight continue its trek across the floor.

 

***

 

Bobby heard Dean's heavy tread on the stairs shortly after dawn, like a man headed down Death Row. He wasn't feeling too energetic himself this morning, knowing what was ahead, but there was nothing to help it. The kid had made his decision, and Dean had given his blessing, which was tantamount to the word of God on earth for anyone who knew the Winchesters. They'd inherited their Daddy's stubbornness, that was for damn sure, and some of their mother's as well, as far as that went. Bobby sighed heavily and poured another cup of coffee.

Dean was sitting a couple of steps up, feet in his boots but they were untied, and Sam sat a step above him, legs bracketing Dean on either side. Bobby stopped just short of going through the door when he saw the pinched look on Dean's face, like he was trying for all he was worth not to break down and cry, and the way he was leaning back into the V of Sam's legs, hands on the kid's bony knees, fingers curled up under his kneecaps like he might just try and pry them off. Sam wasn't minding, though, he was curled around Dean like a shell, arms over his shoulders and crossing his chest, face pressed close against Dean's damp cheek. He was whispering something in his brother's ear, and whatever it was was letting the tears cut loose. Dean didn't cry a whole lot. Never had, not even as a boy when he was hurt and had a legitimate reason, so it was something to see him breaking down so completely in his brother's arms. 

The way they were huddled into each other reminded Bobby of the first few times John had left them alone in his care. They didn't know him well enough then to trust him. Dean did in so far as John had approved, but the boy was slow in giving his own trust to anyone. They had sat like that and slept like that through the afternoons and nights in his library. Dean had been the one to curl around Sam so protectively, being older and bigger then than his brother. 

Bobby cleared his throat and stepped around the door. 'You boys need coffee?'

Neither of them startled at his approach. Maybe they'd been aware of him the whole time, and it just didn't matter to them, now that time was so short, who saw what or what kind of assumptions were made. Not that Bobby needed to make assumptions. He knew.

Dean's face closed up in the blink of an eye, though, and Sam settled back, arms drawing away so that only his hands rested on Dean's shoulders. Dean bent to finish lacing his boots, and Sam stood up, stepped around his brother with ease, jingling the keys to the Impala in his hand. 

'I'll go pull the car up,' he said.

Dean didn't look up to watch Sam bang out the screen door. He just jerked on his laces and tied them tightly before pushing off the step and taking the offered cup in Bobby's out stretched hand. He blew across it for a minute and then took a sip, eyes shifting to the sound of the Impala's engine starting up around back in the garage.

''S it gonna help?' Bobby asked quietly.

Dean didn't look at him, just took another sip of coffee. 'Is what gonna help?' Bobby said nothing for a minute, but Dean refused to look around, and finally he answered, 'It was what he wanted.'

Bobby sighed, pushed at his ball cap, and settled it back on his head.  'Yeah. Well. It's gonna be harder on you, now.'

Dean paused over his coffee, slid a look sideways at Bobby, a blush creeping up his neck as he realized they might not be talking about the same thing. Bobby shook his head and looked out the door to where Sam was steering the car up to the steps and said,

'Don't you think I'm stupid, boy. I know what's goin' on under my own roof.' Dean stiffened, but Bobby continued, 'Ain't never had a problem with nothin' you boys got up to. It's your business, and what right have I got to judge when your lives have been what they are? All I'm sayin' is, it's a lot harder sometimes, when you know what it is you're missin'.' 

The Impala growled to a stop in the brisk, early morning air. She was sounding a little bit choky. Dean would have to remember to take a look at the timing chain when he got a chance. Sam swung open the driver's door and stood up, stretching out, back arcing in a long, graceful curve, arms flung wide. He tipped his face up for a few seconds, serene, eyelids at half mast as he soaked up the first rays of sunlight to find their way over the roof of Bobby's house. His hair was still mussed from sleep, and he'd pulled on one of his oldest and softest tees and hoodies under his jacket. He looked all of sixteen again, and for a moment Dean's heart convulsed in his chest with longing over the idea that he could be that young again and this was all just a very bad dream and in less than twenty-four hours his little brother would _not_ be throwing himself into Hell for the good of all mankind, because what the hell did they owe mankind anyway? The two of them had been screwed over from the very beginning by powers way beyond their control. It wasn't fair, goddamn it. It wasn't fair—!

'Dean.' 

Bobby reached out a hand for Dean's shoulder and caught the chipped ceramic mug at the same time as his fingers let loose of it and sent it on a trajectory for the floor. The boy was a mess. His heart was beating so hard Bobby could feel it through two layers of flannel and cotton and one of canvas. He was shaking, too. The earthquake deep kind that came from the center of your bones. There were tears on his lashes again, sitting at the corners of his eyes, just waiting for him to blink and set them free. 

'Son…'

Dean jerked hard, sucked in a huge uneven breath, and scrubbed at his face. 'Yeah. Yeah, maybe,' he said, barely audible. He shrugged off Bobby's hand and slammed through the screen door, boots heavy on the front steps.

Bobby looked after him, hot coffee running over his fingers from where he'd caught the mug. He cursed softly at the small puddle on the floor, then watched Dean move around the car, smack his brother playfully across the back of the head, and grin at him when he pulled one of his bitch-faces. Dean shoved him toward the passenger side, and Bobby could see Sam smiling as he rounded the car and slid into the seat—a real smile, like he hadn't done in longer than Bobby could recall. It was like the kid had reached some kind of peace with what he was about to do. 

Bobby's eyes snapped to Dean who was still standing in the open door, arms on the roof of the car. He'd seen his brother smile, too, and it showed. For a second Bobby thought he wouldn't be able to hold it together, that he'd finally crack and break, and Sam would be picking up a thousand little pieces of his brother as a going away gift. 

But Dean held on, by the skin of his teeth. Bobby could see him swear viciously and quietly as he ducked his face into the crook of his arm to clear away more tears before he slid in behind the wheel, reaching across the seat to ruffle Sam's hair, and then kicking up gravel and dirt as they pulled out of the yard to go run down the devil.


	9. Shades Of Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam watches Dean grieve, but neglects his own and there are consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter has plagued me for MONTHS, and I have gotten nowhere at all in resisting it on and off. So, I finally gave it a great big vicious shove and it fell off the cliff. The cobbled pieces below are the remains, and so. I apologize ahead of time.

Present Day

 

Sam found a carved box of some exotic wood, bas relief of some intricate early Celtic design on the exterior with wards carved small and neat around the inside edges of the lid, that was a perfect size in which to put Castiel's wing feather. He set it on the war room table where they had left the feather, where Dean had been sitting since before dawn when he'd crawled out of bed having barely slept, with a mug of cold coffee between his hands. Sam took the mug, refilled it, replaced it, pushed the box a little closer to Dean's elbow and left him to his grief. 

Sam could not recall a time he'd seen Dean grieve properly, and he wasn't sure what it looked like. When John died, Dean pushed the grief away and lived in denial until Sam finally gave up plucking at his brother's pain and it diminished enough so Dean could pretend it didn't bother him anymore. When Sam had plummeted into Hell with his hands at Lucifer's proverbial throat, he hadn't been there to see his brother's grief, but had always imagined it similar to the loss of their father but on a magnitude more congruent to a dying star. Then Charlie died (was killed, Sam force-corrected himself) and Dean was too full of hate and vengeance and the need for blood in order to sate the siren song of the Mark to take time for any real grief. Then unleashing the Darkness and its subsequent consequences had further denied him any allowance to grieve for her loss. 

Sam wondered now, watching Dean unobtrusively from the library, if perhaps all those past deaths were getting their due as he stared, catatonically, at the feather laid out in front of him. Maybe Cas' passing symbolized all those they had lost, and Dean was finally taking time to acknowledge it. If that was the case, though, Sam would have his work cut out for him trying to draw Dean back from whatever dark place in which he chose to retreat. 

For Sam, Cas' passing was a sorrow to be sure, but it didn't leave the kind of empty wound in him he knew it would for Dean. Dean had been drawn from the depths of Hell by Cas' right hand. Cas had traded his faith in Creation for his faith in Dean, and that was a responsibility not lightly or easily born. Dean had nearly failed under the weight of it. They had fought in Purgatory as brothers-in-arms, soaked in blood, and that formed the kind of bond of which Sam was only familiar with in Dean. 

He was most sorry to see the angel go because of the pain it caused his brother; but he knew, too, that he would likely never make another peanut butter sandwich that it didn't remind him of Cas.

'Have you eaten?'

Sam blinked and roused from his inward musings on his brother's grief while he stared blindly at the computer screen. Dean was behind him, hands rubbing at his shoulders. When had he moved?

'Uh, I…' He squinted at the computer clock. 'What time is it?'

'Nearly five.'

'Wow.' Sam stretched and winced at the ache in the base of his spine. He pushed back and made to get up, swayed dangerously and nearly crumpled over the table. Dean caught him under the arms and guided him back to the chair. 

'Goddammit,' he swore softly and disappeared from the room while Sam blinked in an effort to clear the grey from the edges of his vision.

Dean was back in less than a minute with a large glass of orange juice. He plunked it almost angrily in front of Sam. 'Drink that. All of it.'

Sam reached for the glass, but his hands felt suddenly weak and his stomach was starting to heave. He pushed back from the table. 'Dean—'

'Sam, don't you dare—'

'I think I'm going to be sick.'

Dean had reflexes that were nearly as supernatural as the monsters they hunted, always had. They could probably be credited with keeping him alive in a good many very bad situations throughout both their lives. He had a trashcan from the corner emptied and under Sam's chin before he could bring up the first sour tasting round of bile. He retched hard, his whole body spasming to bring up the meager contents of his stomach, which he realized belated was only coffee and a piece of toast from nearly ten hours ago. 

'Jesus, Sammy…' Dean was smoothing back his hair, holding the can securely, and keeping Sam balanced so he didn't topple out of the chair. 

Sam cursed, gulped a breath, and retched again. It felt like his toenails were coming up. The baby wasn't happy with all the upset and kicked hard enough to make him hiss in pain.

'Sam?' Dean dropped down on a knee, the concern in his face dialing up toward fear.

Sam shook his head, gagged a little, and then spit into the can and tried to shakily push himself upright. Dean cautiously put the can aside and steadied Sam in the chair. 

'Sam, you okay?'

'Yeah.' Sam swiped at the back of his mouth with his hand. 'Just. She wasn't very happy about all that.'

'You sure?'

Sam nodded, panting, feeling utterly drained and exhausted. 'Yeah, I'm sure. It was just a kick, Dean. That's all. We're fine.'

Dean seemed reluctant to accept this, but he didn't have much choice but to trust Sam's judgement. 

'Stay put,' he commanded. 'I'll get you some water.' 

Dean disappeared again and came back with a glass of tepid water. Sam rinsed his mouth and spit and then sipped at the water until he was sure it wasn't going to come right back up on him, then reached for the glass of juice. 

'Hey, hey. Easy,' Dean said as Sam nearly spilled the glass trying to lift it. He covered Sam's hand and guided it to his lips, only letting go when Sam had both hands securely wrapped around it. He stayed squatted down, rubbing his hands up and down Sam's thighs. 'I'm guessing the answer to my earlier question is, 'no.''

Sam didn't answer.

'Dammit, Sam.' Dean slapped the tops of Sam's thighs lightly, scowling. 'You can't do that. You need to keep your energy up. _She_ needs you to.'

Sam pulled a bitch-face over the edge of the glass.

'Don't look at me like that. What the hell were you thinking?'

'I was a little distracted,' Sam said, voice raspy from all the retching.

'By what?' Dean asked indignantly.

Sam pulled the glass down to give his brother the full glare bitch-face effect and then rolled his eyes. Dean cursed again, but this time at himself, and ran a hand through his hair. 

'I'm sorry, Sam, I shouldn't—'

'Oh, don't you even go there!' Sam almost shouted. Dean's gaze snapped up. 'You have _every_ right to grieve for him, Dean. Jesus Christ, he was your best friend!'

'But you're my brother,' Dean said with a leaden finality. He reached a hand out to spread it over Sam's belly. 'And I have more important things to consider than wallowing in my own grief.'

Sam's eyes immediately teared up. He swore sharply and ducked his head in an effort to hide the sudden tears. 

'Sam?'

'Damn it, Dean,' Sam said tiredly, avoiding his brother's gaze. 'Look. I just need some food, okay. You're right. It was stupid of me not to eat, and now I'm a complete mess because of it.'

'Sam, you're crying.'

'I know! I need food. I'll be fine. It's all just…hormones.'

Dean nodded slowly, but he didn't seem terribly inclined to believe it. 'Finish your juice, and I'll go fix you some chicken salad. Think you can hack that?'

Sam nodded, sipping at his juice obediently. 'Bring me some crackers or something first, huh?'

'You got it.'

 

Dean was relieved to find that Sam was mostly right. Chicken salad, complete with grapes, celery, and pecans just like Sam liked it, was a good fix to the dizziness, the heaving stomach, and the irrational tears. He fixed them both sandwiches with heaping helpings of the salad along with carrot sticks and apple slices. Dean crunched away contentedly, knowing there was pie in the fridge for later.

It didn't cure everything, though. While they ate, Sam's eyes kept darting to the war room table where the box he'd found in the storerooms sat, closed now, holding Cas' wing feather.

'You know I'm not the only one who needs to grieve,' Dean said quietly, catching Sam's gaze as it swung back to his plate. 'He was your friend, too.'

Sam sighed and set down the last of his sandwich. Dean was going to regret his words if it caused Sam to quit eating. 

'Sam—'

'You're right, he was.' Sam pushed his plate away and then looked up at Dean. His eyes were angry, and that surprised Dean a little. 'He was probably the best friend either of us ever had. I'm going to miss him, but the thing is, Dean… I'm going to feel guilty about that. I know you don't like it, and you don't want it that way, but it just is, okay? He gave up his life for you because you were stupid enough to try and sacrifice yourself again.'

'Sam, we've been through this already—'

'Yeah. We were, Dean.' Sam pushed away from the table and stood. He was steady this time. 'But how do you think I'm going to feel knowing he had to die for our daughter to live, for _you_ to live!' Sam's arm was curling around his middle without him even knowing it. Dean watched, tense and wary. 'How am I even going to look at her without remembering how he died and how much it's hurting you!'

Dean was out of his chair then, folding Sam up tight against him, and Sam was suddenly sobbing into his shirtfront. 

'Hormones my ass,' he murmured. 'Chicken salad ain't gonna fix this. Sammy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I didn't have any right to ask that of you. But, Sam, if we live in guilt, then everything he did, what's it worth?'

'I know, I know!' Sam rolled his head back and forth against Dean's collar bone and clung that much tighter. 'But we lost him, Dean. We _lost_ him. And we keep losing… We lose them all, Dean. What if we—what if we lose her, too?'

And there it was. Underneath it all, no matter the brave front Sam put on, or the reassurances from the doctor, or Dean's confidence, Sam was faced with the awful fear of losing their baby. They'd come too close already, and it had cost them the only angel they had in their arsenal. If it were to happen again, there was quite possibly nothing in this plane of existence or any other that could stop it. 

Dean didn't have an answer to that fear. So he said nothing, and just stood there holding Sam while he cried. 

And for the first time in a very, very long time, Dean Winchester prayed.


	10. Careful What You Wish For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Been a while?' Sam taunted. 'You miss getting it in the ass that year you spent with Lisa.'  
>  Dean cringed at the words, shoved a shoulder back into Sam's chest, fully intending to get free because Sammy didn't talk like this, and Dean needed to know what the hell was wrong with him. This whole thing was starting to feel more than wrong. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, this one's mostly porn. Well, not mostly...pretty much entirely.

October 2011

 

Dean sprawled on the bed with an involuntary groan, hand pushing up under the hem of his tee to splay across his belly. He thumbed the snap of his jeans loose and sighed in relief. 

‘You okay?’ Sam asked from across the room where he sat engrossed in searching for any reference as to the final resting place of the Staff of Moses that Cas had them chasing. 

‘Yeah, fine,’ Dean said in a slightly clipped tone. 

He wasn't fine. He was goddamn far from fine. He'd started cramping yesterday, but all the commotion with the discovery of the Campbell clan and Grandad Samuel back from the dead, plus dead cops and weapons of Heaven, hadn't let him get enough time together to take care of himself the way he needed to, and for reasons he couldn't quite explain he was uncomfortable with the idea of just going into the bathroom and jerking off until he finally delivered his egg while Sam was out here in the quiet listening to him. Though if he didn't do something about it soon, he was going to be in a world of hurt. 

Sam sat up straighter, turning halfway toward Dean. ‘Need me to help you out with that?’

Dean’s eyes shot open and he elbowed up to stare at Sam. He wasn't sure what he expected, maybe cautious chagrin, ears tipped pink at the idea he was overtly offering to help Dean deliver, but what he found was shuttered heat, smoldering quietly in the depths of Sam’s amber eyes behind half closed lids. 

‘Uh…’ Dean was speechless, an unusual state for him, but Sam had never made the offer before. Even after their ‘agreement’ all those years ago, Dean hadn't let Sam near him when he had an egg coming down. Too much chance the kid would be able to con him in the heat of passion and get Dean to deliver inside him, effectively getting him pregnant. Dean wasn't superhuman after all. There was only so much he could resist. ‘No,’ he said, licking his lips. ‘No, ‘s fine. I’ll, uh, take care of it.’

‘C’mon, Dean, don't be a prude,’ Sam said, shutting the laptop and rising. ‘Nothing says you can't get a little enjoyment out of it. Let me help. It'll take your mind off the pain, at any rate.’

Dean squinted at him as he came around the bed and settled on the edge with one knee. ‘Sam, if this is some ploy to get me to put my egg in you, we've already––’

‘What? No!’ Sam screwed up his face, almost like the thought was distasteful. ‘No. Why would I want that?’ Dean shot a brow skyward in surprise, and Sam smiled lopsidedly, realizing the forcefulness of his tone he tried to backpedal. ‘It’s, uh…not the right time. Or place. I just thought, I could, you know, make it a little easier for you.’

Dean continued to look at him, taken aback by his open denial that he wanted his brother’s egg inside him. If he was to admit it, it stung, too, hurt with a sharper bite than he could have anticipated. It was an argument they'd had since Sam was a teen, and even though Dean had no intention of ever knocking the kid up, it had been a cruel kind of comfort knowing he wanted it so much anyway. Dean had to wonder at the change of heart, knew it must have something to do with Sam’s time in the Cage, but it would have to wait for later because Sam’s broad, warm palm was pushing Dean’s out of the way and replacing it, spreading across his belly. He cupped the soft little swell there, forming his fingers to it, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Sam had never touched him like that before and it felt…good, but–– 

No. Dean shoved at Sam’s hand and rolled up off the bed, hissing between his teeth in pain and catching himself on the wall when a wave of nausea hit him. Sam was quick to follow him up, got a grip on his hips and pulled him into the V of thighs where Dean could clearly feel his brother’s erection pushing against his ass. 

‘Sammy…’

‘Jesus, Dean, would you stop trying to be a martyr and just let me do this for you,’ Sam said, biting down on the shell of Dean’s ear and dragging his teeth around the curve. ‘It's not like it's a big deal.’

Dean swallowed thickly, opened his mouth to say ‘of course it's a big deal’. It had always been a big deal between them, even when Dean didn't want it to be. Sammy never took his sex lightly. But Sam’s hand was down the front of his pants now, stroking him to full hardness in under ten seconds, and the words of protest got lost between Sam’s squeezing lightly at his swollen head and sliding his thumb across the dilated slit. He choked off a groan, bit down on his lip, and let Sam push him up against the wall. 

Sam didn't stand on ceremony and he didn't waste any time either. Dean could feel him fiddling with his belt buckle behind him with one hand while he tugged at the waistband of Dean's jeans with his other before going back to stroking him. Dean braced himself, palms flat to the wall, made to push away, try and get out from under Sam's weight, but Sam was suddenly up against him again, cock hot and heavy and nudging insistently at the crack of Dean's ass.

Dean groaned and felt Sam's grip on him slip as he spilled a thin stream of come at the feel of skin on skin. He didn't need to turn his head to know Sam was smiling, edgy and wicked, in a way Dean could not recall ever seeing on his little brother's face. 

'Been a while?' Sam taunted. 'You miss getting it in the ass that year you spent with Lisa.'

Dean cringed at the words, shoved a shoulder back into Sam's chest, fully intending to get free because Sammy didn't talk like this, and Dean needed to know what the hell was wrong with him. This whole thing was starting to feel more than wrong. 

'Uh-uh, Dean,' Sam purred, dragging his teeth along the tendon from Dean's jaw to his shoulder, and then biting down into it hard enough to make him flinch. 'You're not going anywhere.'

Dean repositioned his hands, ready to throw his entire weight backward when he felt one slick, long digit slide up inside him with practiced ease and curl forward to press right _there._ Dean dropped forward against the wall, breath punched out of him and Sam moved his finger, in and out, in and out, rubbing against Dean's prostate with every stroke, sending hungry licks of flame skittering across his nerve endings. His cock throbbed, leaked. Sam stroked him harder, and he panted, caught between rhythms. Sam slipped in another finger, and Dean moaned with the dry burn. He wanted to tell Sam to get some lube for chrissake, but he didn't want him to stop long enough to go dig it out of his bag. 

He'd missed this. _Christ,_ how he'd missed this. He hadn't let himself think about it at any time in the last year, berating himself when Sam slipped into his mind when he was making love to Lisa. Lisa didn't deserve to be pushed aside for a memory, and Dean thought it was base and shallow of him to miss the way Sam had filled him up, making him feel whole when he was so hollowed out, when sex with his brother was the last thing he should be missing. With Sam's fingers inside him now, a third stretching him open so he let out a groan that escalated to a hoarse cry, he could admit how empty he'd felt for the last twelve months. 

'You ready, Dean?' Sam whispered. He nuzzled into Dean's neck and then nipped at the knob of his spine, pressing his lips there a second later. Dean shivered and tried to stay standing. 'You want to feel me inside you?'

Dean had to swallow twice just to get the words out. 'Yes. Fuck, yes.'

Sam chuckled against his shoulder, withdrew his fingers, and the second he did, Dean gasped with the resurgence of a painful cramp. Sam put an arm around his chest, held him up, and milked him hard for a few strokes, getting Dean to give up a thick gout of come that Sam spread against Dean's hole, slicking his way. 

Dean gasped again at the first push of Sam's swollen head against his hole, felt himself stretch and give under the pressure. He canted his hips and pushed back, working his muscles to open himself up and pull Sam inside him. Sam let out a low growl and his arm tightened across Dean's chest. He pressed his forehead to the top of Dean's spine and Dean could feel his hot, damp breath across his shoulders as he panted with each little push he gave until Dean was open and Sam was sliding in, slow and hard and hot.

'So hot, Dean,' Sam murmured. 'So tight and hot. Jesus, you feel so good.'

Dean could do nothing but lean into the wall and Sam's strong hold around his chest and let his brother slide into him, balls deep, until Dean felt like he'd burst apart from the fullness in his ass. He shifted back, letting Sam settle even deeper, clenched and squeezed until Sam was huffing behind him, fingers picking up a more desperate rhythm in their stroking of Dean's cock.

A telltale pressure started to settle deep in Dean's groin, and he curled forward a little in anticipation of the pain. The base of his cock thickened. Sam felt it and eased back, but Dean grabbed his hand, holding it around his cock. 

'Don't—don't stop,' he managed through gritted teeth when he felt the first urge to push. 'Just…get behind it. Help me—' he groaned deep in his chest and the pressure in his groin became a distinct pain and moved into his cock. He panted a couple of times and pushed, moved Sam's hand so his fingers wrapped around the base of the sudden new swelling . 'Help ease it…out.'

Dean kept his hand on Sam's for the first few strokes, helped him find the right pressure, and then he braced himself on the wall again, curled in on himself and pushed with a low grunt. Sam worked him, sure and easy with his big hand, all the while rocking his hips against Dean's ass. Dean had never delivered quite this way before. He's always done it on his own or inside someone, but he'd never been fucked while he was trying to do it. It was distracting. In a good way. It didn't lessen the pain, but at least he had a counterpoint of pleasure to push into between urges to bear down with Sam's stroking to move the thing along the length of his cock. 

Within minutes, he felt it settle at the head, start to stretch him open. He bit back a cry, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. 'Sammy, it's comin',' he gasped, head knocking forward against the wall as he bore down into the burn of his slit stretching and opening around the hard, white curve of the emerging egg. 

'Easy, Dean.' Sam used his thumb to rub around the edges of the stretched skin, easing them back and away and Dean grunted. 'Easy.' Sam's voice was rough and a little raspy and Dean was aware on some distant level that his ass muscles were clenching down like a vice as he strained to deliver. Sam was either in pain, or so close to coming he could barely hold on. 'Let it come, Dean. Let it come.'

Dean panted a couple of breaths, gathered himself, and gave one last grunting push. The egg popped out into the palm of Sam's waiting hand, and a second later Dean was coming all over himself and Sam and the wall, so hard he cried out with it,

'Sammy!'

Sam gave another low growl and a deep thrust and Dean felt his insides suddenly go all hot and slick with his brother's come. 

Dean leaned into the wall, Sam leaned into Dean, and they stayed there, panting to catch their breath, for a few minutes. Dean finally pried his eyes open and stared down at the little white orb in Sam's still open palm. It was odd that something so small, no bigger than a large pearl, could cause so much pain. He felt Sam lift up and look over his shoulder.

'So, that's what they look like,' Sam said. He turned his hand and rolled the egg between his thumb and forefinger.

Dean nodded. He'd never paid much attention to them, especially after that time with that guy whose name he'd long forgotten after Sam left for college, but the shell was semi-translucent and if he squinted he thought he could almost see the shadow of—

Sam closed his fist around the egg and squeezed hard. Clear liquid oozed between his fingers for a few seconds before he wiped his hand dry against the thigh of his jeans. He pulled out of Dean, leaving him suddenly empty, chilled to the core, and feeling unaccountably sick to his stomach, then he leaned back in to place a brusque kiss below Dean's ear and whispered,

'And it's 'Sam'.'


	11. One Step Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff and pregnant sex.

It took Dean two weeks to ease Sam off the edge of panic and back to something like normalcy. He was subtle about it, taking matters concerning the baby into his own hands, thinking maybe his efforts would rouse hope in Sam's spirits again. 

He started by clearing out one of the bedrooms just down the hall from his own. They spent the majority of their nights in his bed anyway, so it seemed a logical place to put the nursery. He gutted the room, stripped it bare, and went on the hunt for paint. He ended up with something eggshell with a touch of rose that, under the recessed daylight lighting he'd ordered from the hardware store in town, ultimately gave the room a perpetual feeling of being caught at sunrise. 

Before he painted, of course, the walls were inscribed with every sigil and protective symbol in his arsenal and a few he had to look up in their massive library. Sam would stop in the doorway every so often to watch him sketch out something in Celtic or Enochian, give a slight nod of approval, and continue on down the hall. Once, Dean came in the next morning to find one of the sigils corrected, but beyond that, he never saw Sam step foot inside the room. 

The baseboards he etched with sigils as well and cut two narrow troughs in the back, one to be filled with iron filings and the other salt, and nailed them all along the perimeter of the room. It wasn't like the bunker wasn't guarded well enough on its own. Dean thought sometimes the thing had a kind of consciousness because he swore he'd run across protections and wardings every once in a while that they had not catalogued when they'd moved in. He was certain it would protect their daughter vigilantly without any help from him, but it never hurt to be sure. 

When the room looked satisfactorily rosy and warm without looking too girlie, Dean decided it was time to get Sam involved before the place ended up looking more like his room with old civil war rifles, samurai swords, and heavy-metal posters on the walls. 

'Feel like dinner?' he asked Sam late one afternoon.

Sam looked up from the Tibetan charm dictionary he'd been researching. They'd quit actively hunting, but they still took calls for help from other hunters, and Dresden Sage had needed a hand with some offshoot of a Tulpa. 

'Yeah, I suppose,' Sam answered.

'Okay then, grab your coat.'

Sam frowned. 'We've got plenty in the fridge from when you cooked on Tuesday.'

'I know, but I don't want leftovers. I found this little dive in Wichita I want to try. C'mon.'

Sam reluctantly closed the book and rose from the table, pausing to steady himself when he was on his feet. Dean scowled.

'You ate all your lunch, right?'

'Yes, Dean,' Sam sighed. 'I've just been a little lightheaded today. Probably all the sitting. Going out will probably be good for me. Get the blood moving.'

Before he could step away, Dean moved up into his space, spreading his hands against the curve of Sam's middle. The baby flutter-kicked against his right palm and he smiled.

'You know you're gorgeous, right?' he whispered.

'She ought to be with a dad like you,' Sam said.

Dean leaned in to kiss Sam hard on the mouth. 'Not who I was talking about.'

Sam flushed and ducked his head, but Dean pushed his chin back up and kissed him again. 

'I don't think I ever bothered telling you all these months how beautiful you look like this.'

'Dean, I'm a whale,' Sam retorted half-heartedly, but he was starting to smile. 

Dean shook his head and caressed Sam's belly. 'I think I'm liking the idea of more kids if I get to see you like this.'

Sam rolled his eyes and gave Dean a shove backwards. He was grinning now. 'I'll get my shoes.'

 

Dean hadn't been shining Sam entirely. He had looked up a good hole-in-the-wall diner in Wichita, and they ate double bacon cheeseburgers made from local beef and chili cheese fries. Even Sam, who found himself with a surprisingly vigorous appetite after smelling meat on the grill and fresh baked pie cooling on the counter in the kitchen. Dean had two pieces: one blueberry, one peach.

It was afterward, when Sam was lolling in the passenger seat, hunger fully sated, stroking a large, easy hand over his belly (which was causing Dean's dick to sit up and pay eager but inconvenient attention) that Dean sprang the trap. He pulled into a large strip mall comprised of furniture stores and, situated at the end, was one of the bigger chain baby stores.

Sam tensed in the seat. 'I thought we were going home.'

'We are, but I thought while we were here…' He gestured out the window. 'I have that room all ready, Sam. We need some furniture. I know you're not going to want my decorating prowess in charge of it, in which case we'd probably be at a salvage yard instead. So, you're gonna have to help me out here.'

'Whatever you pick out is fine, Dean,' Sam said, deliberately not looking at the storefront. His hand has gone still on his belly. Dean reached out and covered it, squeezing lightly.

'Sam, it's going to be okay, and since it is, we need to get cracking on preparations.' He ducked down to look Sam in the face. 'I'm gonna love this little darlin' like no other, but I do not want her in bed with us, which means she needs one of her own.'

Sam reluctantly followed when Dean got out and came around to give him a hand out of the car. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and pulled his jacket around himself like he wanted to hide. Dean put a hand in the small of his back and rubbed firmly. 

'Gorgeous, remember, Sam?'

Sam relaxed a little and let Dean's hand guide him across the lot and into the brightly lit store. 

Dean purposely wandered the aisles, keeping a hand at Sam's back, pointing out things that would be good to stock up on. Sam mostly just nodded and kept his eyes forward or bent on the floor. Dean was about to give it up after thirty minutes when Sam stopped in front of a display of tiny dresses. Most of them were frilly and frothy and in pink or white or both; but there was one that was very simple, in sage green satin with a cream sash, and came with tiny little slipper shoes with dainty cream roses on the toes. Sam fingered it like it might break under his touch.

'Pretty,' Dean approved softly. He reached out and pulled the smallest one off the rack. 'I think she'll be beautiful in it, don't you?'

Sam blushed, but nodded. 

After that, Sam loosened up, and eventually went wandering through the extensive selection of cribs and nursery furniture on his own. Dean settled in a glider rocker not far away with the tiny satin dress across his lap and watched Sam critique the cribs for sturdy build, ease of access, and, most of all, compatibility with his height. He finally settled on a very simple sleigh style with wide slats stained in a light maple color. Dean had one of the store clerks fetch one from the warehouse along with the glider he'd solidly fallen in love with because, 'It has memory foam just like my mattress, Sam!' 

The bedding aisle looked a bit daunting to Dean, and he felt overwhelmed by all the pastels, but Sam and his scrutinous eye caught sight of an equally simple crib-set in a patchwork of varied textures of cream fabric and trimmed in the same sage green as the tiny dress he'd chosen. Dean grinned his approval and then carefully loaded the boxes into the Impala's trunk and back seat. Sam held the dress in his lap all the way home. 

 

It was only eight o'clock when they reached the bunker, so Dean set to work on piecing together the glider rocker, in which Sam took up station when Dean was finished and watched the rest of the assemblage of the crib. Inside of an hour, Dean was wiping down the crib and pulling the fitted sheet around the small mattress and spreading out the quilt. Sam was dozing now in the rocker, the dress still across his knees. Dean picked it up and hung it carefully from the side of the crib, smoothing a wrinkle in the satin and setting the sash to rights. 

'Heya, Sammy.' He bent down to brush a kiss across Sam's forehead. 'Why don't we take you to bed. You can inspect in the morning.'

Sam nodded sleepily and let Dean pull him up out of the chair, steady him, and walk him back to their room. He cast a muzzy glance over his shoulder as they left the room and smiled when he saw Dean's completed handiwork. 

'Good job, big brother,' he mumbled. 

'Thanks, kiddo,' Dean said, pushing Sam gently down the hallway.

He stripped Sam naked with easy efficiency and put him into a loose pair of sleep pants before pouring him into bed. He pressed a kiss to the swell of his belly before he pulled the covers up and felt Sam shiver involuntarily.

'Cold?'

'Uh-uh,' Sam said, cracking a sleepy eye. 'Do that again…please?'

'What?'

'G'night kiss.'

Dean lifted the blanket and pressed his lips to the swell again, felt Sam shiver again, and also felt a small nudge like their daughter was acknowledging his gesture of affection. Sam sighed musically and smoothed a big palm over his belly.

'Feels good,' he murmured.

Dean watched as his hand traversed the taut expanse of skin stretched over the full swell of his belly. Dean's dick twitched at the gesture and then surged outright when Sam's hand dipped lower and rubbed briefly across the growing swell between his thighs.

'Feels so good,' Sam murmured again.

Dean pulled the blanket back and straightened up. 'Gotta quit that, Sam, or there'll be consequences,' he said, only half joking. 

Sam's hand moved under the blanket, and it didn't take anything for Dean to imagine him gripping his lengthening cock through his sleep pants and stroking it.

'Sammy…' he said warningly.

'Consequences-shmonsecquenses,' Sam slurred.

He was still half asleep. In fact, Dean wasn't positive he even realized he was stroking his own cock pretty intently right now, hips starting to roll against the mattress as a low moan escaped his throat. If he left him to it, Sam would probably come in another minute or two and then fall completely asleep. He should do that. Dean knew that was exactly what he should do. His brother needed his rest, but damn it…

'Gonna make me pay up, Dean?' Sam asked.

Dean growled an unintelligible reply and stripped off his shirt and jeans and boxers. His cock was thick and hard already and jutted out in front of him. He saw that Sam had both eyes open now and they widened approvingly at the sight of Dean naked beside him. Sam shoved the covers back and, in the same move, divested himself of his sleep pants. His cock stood up tall against the curve of his belly, already slick with come.

'Kiss me, Dean,' Sam commanded.

Dean bent forward and kissed Sam soundly on the mouth, driving his tongue past Sam's slick, pliable lips and stroking the hot, velvet inside of his mouth. Sam rose to it, making little needy sounds in the back of his throat. He got a hand on Dean's shoulder and pushed him down. Dean came off his mouth panting.

'Kiss me, Dean,' Sam commanded again, and Dean grinned wolfishly and then knelt on the bed between Sam's thighs and curled forward to trail a line of kisses over his belly. Sam moaned loudly and arched his back, pushing the curve of his swollen body closer to Dean's kisses. Dean kept kissing in an ever outward spiral while Sam moaned and his hands roved the sheets and his chest and pinched at his nipples and caressed his pregnant belly where Dean was not claiming territory with his mouth, and finally gripped his cock and tugged hard.

'Fuck, Dean…I want you,' Sam rasped.

Dean leaned back and gripped both of Sam's hands with his own, drawing them up to rest again on the curve of his belly. He held them there for a long minute while Sam whined wantonly and then finally settled a little. Dean sat back on his haunches and spread Sam's legs wide. He sucked a finger into his mouth, slicking it up, and then slowly pushed it up inside Sam, keeping his legs spread and watching the digit disappear inch by inch into his tight, pink hole.

'Dean!' Sam panted and moaned. His cock jerked against his belly and blurted out come. Dean used it to slick a second finger and work both up inside Sam while he panted harder and writhed on the bed. Dean's own cock was weeping steadily, angry red and swollen between his legs. One touch and he'd probably blow his load. He pushed deep inside Sam, crooked his fingers and reveled in Sam's howl of pleasure. Sam's hole fluttered and clenched around his fingers and Dean watched it hungrily, wanting to put his cock there and feel those muscles grab and squeeze him. 

'Sammy, I can't—I wanna—' Dean stumbled over his words, gasping as his balls clenched up. He withdrew his fingers and Sam howled again, but this time in frustration. Dean grabbed his hips and hauled him down the bed, up onto his thighs. He shouldered Sam's calves, taking the pressure off his little brother's lower back and lining him up beautifully with Dean's aching hard cock. Sam held his breath in anticipation, and then let it out on a long, low groan as Dean pushed into him.

Dean let his hands roam up from Sam's hips to the curve of his belly and caressed it as he buried himself in his brother's ass. 

'Oh God…Dean?' Sam gripped Dean's wrists tight, curled his shoulders off the bed. 'I'm gonna—'

Sam cried out as he came, shooting long, hot ropes of come across his belly and Dean's hands, whole body shuddering, ass clenching down tight on Dean's cock. 

Dean barely got in half a dozen good thrusts before his balls squeezed hard and he emptied himself in great hot gouts inside of Sam.

Dean slumped, but was careful not to put his weight forward and double Sam in half. He gripped Sam's ankles for a moment or two, tried to catch his breath, and then massaged his calves with a light touch and turned his head to kiss the inside of Sam's knee. 

Sam chuckled breathily at the soft touch. He tried to bring his legs down on his own but didn't seem to have the energy, so Dean lowered them one at a time, carefully, scooting back down the bed to let Sam rest flat. Sam massaged his belly. 

'Okay?' Dean asked, running his hands lightly up and down Sam's thighs, watching with an odd, warm pleasure as Sam's cock softened and went flaccid against his belly.

'Very okay.' Sam nodded against the pillows. His voice was tired and far away and Dean knew he'd be out in minutes, so he got up and went to the bathroom to retrieve a warm, wet cloth to clean them up with.

When he came back, though, Sam was sitting up with a hand to his stomach, grimacing. Dean knelt at his feet. 

'Hey, you sure you're okay?'

Sam nodded again but winced like the action was painful. He pressed a couple of fingers to his temple. 'Just…got a headache all of a sudden and feel a little nauseous.'

'You think you're gonna be sick?' Dean tensed, ready to move fast if that were the case.

Sam gave it a moment's serious thought and then shook his head slowly. 'No, I think I'll be okay. Maybe dinner finally caught up with me, or you know. The last couple of weeks.'

'Yeah,' Dean admitted. 'You've been pretty tense. Maybe this was the release you needed.'

'No pun intended?' Sam tried for some humor past his pinched features.

'No. No pun intended,' Dean said. 'Here, lay back and let me clean you up, and I'll get you something for your head.'

Sam staid Dean's hand. 'No, let me go to the bathroom. I'll be right back.'

Dean let Sam pry himself up into a standing position and lean on him for a moment before he traversed the floor under Dean's watchful eye to the bathroom. Dean listened for several minutes of nothing but silence and then there was the sound of water running and Sam retching, he thought. He was about to barge into the bathroom when Sam came out, a little steadier on his feet than he had been, and looking a little less green around the gills.

'You get sick after all?' he asked.

Sam nodded reluctantly as he sat down on the bed beside Dean. 'Only a little, though. I'm okay, Dean.'

Dean eyed him for a long moment. 'Baby, too?'

Sam nodded again, this time with a slight smile. 'Yes. Her, too. We're fine.'

Dean harrumphed softly and then scooted back across the bed and held up the covers for Sam to lay back and curl up beside him.

Sam shifted around until he had himself comfortably propped against Dean's flank with one leg thrown over his brother's thighs and a hand spread across his heart. Dean crooked his arm to get a hand in Sam's hair so he could scritch lightly at his scalp with blunt nails and listen to Sam's contented breathing. The other hand he spread protectively against the curve of Sam's middle. 

'Thank you, Dean,' Sam whispered several minutes later when Dean was dozing comfortably.

'Mmmm?'

'Thank you for tonight,' Sam repeated. His voice sounded a little odd. Choked, like he was trying to speak past tears. Dean stayed quiet. 'Thank you for…everything. I know you—I know you want me to believe this will all be all right, and after tonight…' 

Sam paused and curled closer into Dean's side. Dean tighten his arm around his little brother but still said nothing. 

'After tonight, I think I do.'

Dean smiled and kissed the top of Sam's head and they drifted off to sleep.


	12. Reparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's determined to fix his mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any glaring errors. This was a three hour sprint, and the only beta on hand was me :)

Dean stood in front of the dying fire and sipped at the…fourth glass? Of Bobby's rot gut since nine o'clock this evening. He'd slowed down. The first two he'd tipped back one after the other. The third one had lasted him until Bobby had turned in for the night and this one he was nursing as an excuse to stay in the library staring at Sam, stretched out awkwardly on the couch, sleeping soundly. He really ought to wake the kid up and haul him upstairs to one of the double beds in Bobby's spare room; but Sam looked like…Sam, just lying there, hair in his eyes, mouth slack, arms tucked in close, like he wanted to be holding something but there was nothing there to grip onto. 

By his own admission, Sam—the one without a soul—hadn't slept in over a year, and even though he'd spent four days unconscious down in Bobby's panic room less than a week ago, some part of him knew there was a lot more to catch up on, and he'd passed out shortly after dinner. Dean had been staring at him ever since. He hadn't realized how good it felt to just watch the kid sleep, to know he was really him again.

'Hey.'

Dean blinked. Sam's eyes were at half-mast and he was looking up at Dean with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

'Heya,' Dean said softly.

Sam stretched and pushed his hair out of his eyes. 'What time is it?'

Dean glanced at the clock just over his shoulder. 'About midnight.'

'Jeez, how long have I been out?' Sam pushed up on an elbow and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

'Since a little before eight.'

'Wow. Guess I was more tired than I thought.'

'Yeah. Well. You've had a rough year.'

Sam's face fell at the mention of that year he couldn't recall. The one he'd spent running around committing mayhem with no soul. No matter how Dean tried, he couldn't convince the kid that it wasn't _him_. He wasn't to blame for the things he did. Sam wasn't listening. 

'I suppose so, yeah.'

Dean slugged back the rest of what was in his glass and set it on the corner of Bobby's desk. He avoided meeting Sam's gaze. 'Why don't you go on up to bed.'

Sam wrestled himself into a sitting position. 'You comin'?'

Dean nodded. 'In a bit.'

Sam hesitated. 'Dean…'

'It's okay, Sam.'

It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. Hell, Dean wasn't even sure what Sam was asking, or what _he_ was answering. It just came out because it's what he always said. Sam frowned a little and stood up, came to stand at Dean's side. He paused there, like he was debating with himself over something, and then leaned in a little. Dean turned away.

'I'll be up in a little, Sam.'

Dean could hear Sam swallow his next words and then shuffle from the room; knew the kid's head was ducked down, floppy hair hiding the hurt tugging between his brows; knew his shoulders were pulled in and hunched as he trudged slowly up the stairs. He kept his back to the door until he heard Sam's footfalls in the hallway overhead. He blew out a long, slow breath and turned to peer into the darkness overhead. Sam was moving around, stripping off layers. Dean could hear his boots clunk on the floorboard and then his jeans and his heavy belt buckle. There was the creak of bedsprings and he imagined Sam curling in on himself around his pillow, and it made his heart hurt because he wanted to go up there and give Sam something to hold onto. God, did he _want_ to, but…

He shook his head to dispel the thought and reached to rub at his lower back. Must've pulled something hacking at those damn dragons in the sewers—

'Oh, Goddamnit…' Dean hissed and bent over, bracing himself on Bobby's desk as the ache became a sudden throb and pushed its way through him to his gut. The cramp was sharp and tight and he gasped with the force of it, forgetting to breathe for a second. 

He did _not_ need this right now. How the hell had he lost track of the time so badly?

He sucked in a deep, slow breath and straightened up. The cramp let go of him and receded back to a dull ache in his lower back, but he already felt the familiar heaviness growing in his belly and groin. It would be a few hours at least before he could try for a successful delivery, and he didn't want to spend those tossing and turning in the bed across from Sam, so he poured himself another glass of whisky and went to sit down on the couch.

He kicked off his boots, loosened his belt buckle, and unzipped his jeans to take the pressure off his belly which was already growing tight. With any luck he'd be able to get this done before dawn, go lose it in the downstairs bathroom without anyone the wiser. Bobby never questioned him about it, he trusted Dean to take care of things however they needed taking care of, not that he wouldn't be there for him if Dean needed him. Sam, though… Sam would never let it go without trying to help him. No matter that they'd long gotten past him trying to take Dean's egg, he still couldn't stand to see his big brother in pain without trying to do something to help; and after that time before…

Dean's stomach flipped at the memory of Sam driving into him so hard he'd yelled out as he delivered his egg into Sam's waiting palm; how Sam had looked it over with that cool, detached curiosity, and then—

Dean swallowed the bile at the back of his throat and washed it down with another slug of whisky. He tipped his head back against the cushions and kicked his legs out and focused on breathing slow and even as another cramp worked its way around from his back to grip at his belly. 

Another couple of hours and it would be over, he told himself. He finished off his whisky and closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

 

He woke, with a start and a gasp, what he assumed was several hours later. The fire had died down to nothing but a dull glow in the hearth and the moon was high overhead and slanting light in through the tall windows behind him, cutting out the shape of Sam on his knees between Dean's splayed legs. 

'Thought so,' Sam whispered into the dark, and Dean realized belatedly that Sam's hand was spread warm and heavy over his taut belly. He sucked in a breath, pulling away, and Sam pulled a face something close to his old familiar bitch-face but much more hurt than that. He drew his hand back slowly and sat down on his haunches.

'Dean, what did I do to you?'

Dean struggled to sit up straighter against the cushions, but his belly cramped and he grimaced, fist closing on top of his thigh as he blew out a harsh breath at the pain. Sam leaned forward instinctively, but caught himself and drew again back before he touched. Dean pressed back into the cushions as far as could, unable to get up or move away without physically shoving Sam back.

Sam's eyes shot wide suddenly, and Dean froze, terrified that some memory or other had finally niggled its way through a crack and broken open a section of that wall in Sam's head.

'Oh, God…I didn't,' Sam mumbled brokenly. 'Did I?'

Dean frowned. 'Did you, what?' 

Dean floundered for an answer to the elusive question and when the light caught in Sam's big wet eyes as he dipped his head down to cover his face with his hands, it hit Dean like a ton of bricks what the kid was talking about. He reached out automatically to grab Sam by the back of the neck and squeeze hard, giving him a little shake. 

'No, Sam. _Hell,_ no,' Dean swore. 'I wouldn't let you do that, Sam. To either of us.'

Sam leaned into Dean's touch but he still wouldn't raise his head. 'Then why, Dean?'

His voice was muffled through his hands, but Dean knew what he was asking, and he didn't want to answer it.

'Why what?' he hedged.

Sam did look up then but kept his hands carefully to himself. 'Every time I touch you, you—flinch, or pull away, or something.'

'You're imagining things,' Dean said, drawing back his hand. Sam caught it tight around the wrist, and Dean immediately tensed.

'Am I?' Sam asked. 

Dean forced his arm to go limp, but Sam kept hold of his wrist.

'What did I do?' Sam asked again.

' _You_ didn't do anything,' Dean said firmly.

Sam hissed in frustration. 'Then what did _he_ do to you?'

Dean ground his teeth against another cramp and rolled his eyes. 'Sam, it's not—it's not important now, okay? You're back. I'm fine. Everything's fine. Okay? I just…need to get used to you being you again.'

Sam nodded reluctantly, but it was obvious in the hard set of his mouth that he wasn't  buying that answer. He reached out slowly to spread his hand against Dean's bloated midsection again. 

'You're hurting,' he said. It wasn't a question. 'Do you need to deliver?'

There was no getting around it, Dean thought, and it really didn't matter anyway. Nothing had changed. He figured the cramps were strong enough now. He'd just stick with plan A and go in the bathroom and get it done.

'Yeah. It started a few hours ago.' He pushed Sam's hand away, trying to be easy about it. 'Why don't you go on back to bed, and I'll…go take care of this.'

'I can help you, Dean—'

'Go back to bed, Sam.'

Dean's voice was sharper than he meant it to be, but it got the desired reaction. Temporarily, at least. Sam jerked back, systems all on auto-pilot at the command in that tone, but then he leaned forward again and pushed his hand under Dean's shirt and stared him down.

'That's what I did, right?' Sam demanded. 'I helped you. And you let me, but—'

Something in Dean's face must've given him away because Sam's crumpled in some painful mix of horror and guilt.

'Jesus, Dean what did I do!'

'I told you, Sam. _You_. didn't. do. anything,' Dean insisted. He flopped back on the cushions. There was going to be no escaping this it looked like. Sam was determined to make reparations for his crimes, even if _he_ wasn't the one who had committed them, not in Dean's eyes anyway. It felt good, too, Dean had to admit to himself, to have Sam's hand on him, spread over his tight, hard belly.

He tipped his head back, sighed defeatedly. 'He… Yeah, he did offer, and I did let him, and afterward he was just so…cold. He took it and…'

Dean still couldn't bring himself to say what Soul-less Sam had done with the egg. He didn't want the image in his mind again, and he didn't want Sam to know either, not that he wouldn't the able to guess, because it was gonna kill the kid to know what he'd done.

Suddenly, Sam's mouth was on his, wet and sloppy and fierce. Dean could taste tears in the kiss. He cupped Sam's face and felt the wet trails on his cheeks. 

'Sammy, don't. It's okay,' he murmured into the kiss, but Sam wouldn't let up. He delved deep into Dean's mouth, sliding his tongue roughly over Dean's. Their teeth clicked and scraped as Sam pushed up harder into the kiss, biting at Dean's lips, not hard enough to hurt, but to make his point that he wasn't backing down from this.

Despite the cramping pain in his belly, Dean felt desire surge up and fill his cock, and he moaned involuntarily. Sam's hand skimmed down past Dean's open fly to cup the bulge between his legs.

'I can help you, Dean. Please, let me help you,' Sam begged.

Dean lifted into the light, rhythmic squeezing of Sam's hand on his cock, and it was answer enough. Dean had no idea what kind of damage this was going to do to the both of them. If it would fix anything, or just make it worse, but he couldn't bring himself to care as Sam's broad palm and the pleasure it gave forced back another, fiercer, cramp in his belly. He lifted his hips to hook his thumbs in his waistband and drag his jeans down, but Sam stopped him.

'No, Dean.' He carefully peeled Dean's boxers way from his swelling cock and laid it bare to the cool night air and Sam's hot gaze. 'Let me.'

Sam dipped his head to lick up the length of Dean, stopping at the head to spread his lips softly against the velvet skin and kiss the tip. Dean's breath caught in his throat. He'd never been sucked off when he was delivering. He had no idea if it was even possible, but Sam, it appeared, was determined to try. His hands were on Dean's hips, holding him firmly, because he wanted this to be his show. He wanted to do the work.

Sam wet his lips until they were warm and slick and then spread them around the head of Dean's cock very slowly. Dean nudged up into the wet heat of Sam's mouth, pushed himself against the velvet softness of Sam's tongue and received a slow, swirling stroke in return. He shuddered under Sam's ministrations and focused on the feel of Sam bobbing on his head in tiny, short little strokes as another cramp squeezed his belly.

He gasped and rocked forward, curling in around the pain. Sam didn't stop but spread his hand over the now very definite swell of Dean's belly and stroked in time with his gentle suckling of Dean's cock. It took Dean a minute or two to figure out that Sam was monitoring his contractions with the palm of his hand, and when they peaked he would suck harder, fiercer, distracting Dean with waves of pleasure. Dean was starting to lose himself to the rhythm of it when he felt the base of his cock thicken. He groaned heavily. Sam responded by wrapping his hand firmly around Dean's cock and stroking upward, fingers rippling in a complicated pattern of pressure that started to draw the hard swell of Dean's egg up the length of his cock in no time. 

Sam stayed on his head, licking and sucking, cupping his tongue around it and teasing the sensitive ridge. When his egg started coming and Dean's contractions got closer together, Sam paused fractionally to flick at Dean's dilating slit with the tip of his tongue. Dean's whole body twitched then, like he'd been shot with electricity. 

'Holy shit, Sam!'

Dean bit back a groan as another contraction rippled across his belly and through his cock, and Sam unerringly used it to draw the swell of his egg further upward. He could feel his slit dilating further, and Sam's tongue—

Sam licked into it again, darting the tip of his tongue in, quick and gentle. Dean jolted, threw his head back and grabbed at the cushions.

'Yes! Jesus, Sam, that's so good…'

Sam did it again, licking into the gradually widening slit, and Dean moaned loudly, caught between the exquisite pleasure of Sam's tongue and the gripping pain of the next contraction. 

Sam found a new rhythm, alternately licking deep into Dean's open slit and sucking as the contractions helped him push his egg out. His strokes were sure and perfect in pressure, and Dean wondered absently if somehow part of Sam remembered how he'd been shown to do it before. Dean shoved the thought out of his head, though. It didn't matter. That other Sam would never have done this for him, and he didn't want to ever think about him again.

Sam had his whole hand under the swell of Dean's egg now and was easing it up into the head of his cock. As slow as he tried to go, though, it was still too much for Dean, and he grabbed Sam's wrist, crying out in pain.

'Stop! God. St-stop. For just a second,' Dean panted. 'Too fast. I need to…push!'

Dean grunted and bore down hard while Sam suckled at him gently, running the tip of his tongue around Dean's stretched slit as the egg crowned.

'Comin'… Sammy, it's comin'!' Dean cried as his egg popped out and Sam's big hand expertly milked him while he came long and hard and hot in Sam's mouth.

He sagged back into the cushions, sweaty and exhausted and breathing hard, trembling from head to foot as Sam cradled his flaccid cock in both hands and sucked him clean before coming off of him with a soft pop. He sat up between Dean's knees and opened his mouth to reveal the small pearl of Dean's egg cupped safely on his tongue. He reached into his mouth carefully and drew it out between two fingers. He set it gingerly in the cup of his palm and stared at it, awestruck. 

'Beautiful,' he murmured. He looked up at Dean. 'I never realized how beautiful…'

Dean felt tears sting his eyes as he stared at Sam staring at his egg held like some priceless treasure in the palm of his hand. Sam looked up again, and his eyes were uncertain this time.

'Dean, I don't know… I don't want to just…'

'It's okay, Sam.' 

Dean carefully picked the egg out of Sam's palm and folded it gently inside his own fist. He leaned forward and kissed Sam firmly, gently, thoroughly, trying to tell him without words that this was the best they could hope for, what came next was the only thing either of them could do. Sam sat back on his heels as Dean pushed unsteadily to his feet, hiked his boxers and jeans back up from around his hips and then went into the hallway bathroom and shut the door. 

Dean stared at the small pearlescent egg in his hand for long moment. He knew exactly what he had to do. He'd done it dozens of times, but now, with the memory of Sam's awestruck face emblazoned firmly over that other Sam's cold, cold, gaze, he was finding it very hard to do. He turned his hand over and let the egg fall into the toilet with a tiny splash, closed the lid, and flushed before he could think about it. 

Outside the door, he could hear the sound of Sam weeping quietly. 

 


End file.
